They serve God well, who serve his creatures.

A child's eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thought—what on earth can be more beautiful? Full of hope, love and curiosity, they meet your own.

Of all the joys that lighten suffering earth, what joy is welcomed like a new born child?

A woman's suffering is never above half known, for the fact of the publicity of her wrongs is counted to her for disgrace.

God made all pleasures innocent.

I do not ask for my rights. I have no rights. I have only wrongs.

Oh, there at last, life's trials past, / We'll meet our loved ones more, / Whose feet have trod the path to God, -- / Not lost, but gone before.