Junior was eleven. The statement is significant. There are a few peevish people in the world who believe that all eleven-year-old boys ought to be hung. Others, less irritable, think that gently chloroforming them would seem more humane. A great many good-natured folks contend that incarceration for a couple of years would prove the best way to dispose of them.

Regardless of the popular literary trend of the times, write the thing which lies close to your heart.

For though love has been ridiculed and disgraced, exchanged and bartered, dragged through the courts, and sold for thirty pieces of silver, the bright, steady glow of its fire still shines on the hearth-stones of countless homes.

A person may encircle the globe with mind open only to bodily comfort. Another may live his life on a sixty-foot lot and listen to the voices of the universe.

They are the most painful tears in the world ... the tears of the aged ... for they come from dried beds where the emotions have long burned low.

The greatest antidote in the world for grief is work, and the necessity of work.

There is no division nor subtraction in the heart-arithmetic of a good mother. There are only addition and multiplication.