Oh, the comfort - the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person - having neither to weigh thoughts nor to measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together.

Every man for himself, and the Devil take the hindmost.

Wedlock's a lane where there is no turning.

One cannot make oneself, but one can sometimes help a little in the making of somebody else. It is well.

Why cannot one always do, not only the right thing, but at the right time?

How the sting of poverty, or small means, is gone when one keeps house for one's own comfort and not for the comfort of one's neighbors.

God makes many poets, but he only gives utterance to a few.