Ideas won’t keep something must be done about them.
Happiness is a small and unworthy goal for something as big and fancy as a whole lifetime, and should be taken in small doses.
It seems to me that perfection of means and confusion of goals seems to characterize our age.
Were a star quenched on high, For ages would its light, Still travelling downward from the sky, Shine on our mortal sight. When a good man dies, For years beyond his ken, The light he leaves behind him shines Along the path of men.