Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.

What the deuce is to do now?

What necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer-the Future so much brighter?

My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler breathings of April; the nights and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood in our veins; we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden.

I believe while I tremble; I trust while I weep.

For those who are not hungry, it is easy to palaver about the degradation of charity.

Out of association grows adhesion, and out of adhesion amalgamation.