The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.

Health is the soul that animates all the enjoyments of life, which fade and are tasteless without it.

The math is dead simple: it seems that the frequency of planets able to support life is roughly one percent. In other words, a billion or more such worlds exist in our galaxy alone. That's a lot of acreage, and it takes industrial-strength credulity to believe it's all bleakly barren.

In theory one is aware that the earth revolves, but in practice one does not perceive it, the ground upon which one treads seems not to move, and one can live undisturbed. So it is with Time in one's life.

I'm not looking for sympathy at all.