I don't like authority, at least I don't like other people's authority.

The friend is the person whom one is in need of and by whom one is needed.

As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow.

Congenial labor is the secret of happiness.

It seems sometimes as if one were powerless to do any more from within to overcome troubles, and that help must come from without.

What a strange power the perception of beauty is! It seems to ebb and flow like some secret tide, independent alike of health and disease, of joy or sorrow. There are times in our lives when we seem to go singing on our way, and when the beauty of the world sets itself like a quiet harmony to the song we uplift.

Do you know the times when one seems to stick fast in circumstances like the fly in the jam-pot? It can't be helped, and I suppose the best thing to do is to lay in a good store of jam!