Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he read more

Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in
the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart
of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and
feel the throbbing heart of man?

A student never forgets an encouraging private word, when it is given with sincere respect and admiration.

A student never forgets an encouraging private word, when it is given with sincere respect and admiration.

The studious class are their own victims; they are thin and pale,
their feet are cold, their heads are read more

The studious class are their own victims; they are thin and pale,
their feet are cold, their heads are hot, the night is without
sleep, the day a fear of interruption,--pallor, squalor, hunger,
and egotism. If you come near them and see what conceits they
entertain--they are abstractionists, and spend their days and
nights in dreaming some dream; in expecting the homage of society
to some precious scheme built on a truth, but destitute of
proportion in its presentment, of justness in its application,
and of all energy of will in the schemer to embody and vitalize
it.

Take the attitude of a student, never be too big to ask questions, never know too much to learn something read more

Take the attitude of a student, never be too big to ask questions, never know too much to learn something new.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

Experience is the best of schoolmasters, only the school-fees are
heavy.

Experience is the best of schoolmasters, only the school-fees are
heavy.

No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar

No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
read more

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?

Students now arrive at the university ignorant and cynical about our political heritage, lacking the wherewithal to be either inspired read more

Students now arrive at the university ignorant and cynical about our political heritage, lacking the wherewithal to be either inspired by it or seriously critical of it