Books Are Embalmed Minds.

We Repose Too Much Upon The Actual, When We Should Be Seeking To Develop The Possibilities Of Our Being. It Is True Of Nearly All Of Us, That What We Have Done Is Little Compared With What We Might Have Accomplished, Or May Hereafter Effect.

We Make Way For The Man Who Boldly Pushes Past Us.

Tis But A Short Journey Across The Isthmus Of Now.

The Busiest Of Living Agents Are Certain Dead Men's Thoughts.

Many An Honest Man Practices Upon Himself An Amount Of Deceit Sufficient, If Practised Upon Another, And In A Little Different Way, To Send Him To The State Prison.