Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.

Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.

It is a queer thing, but imaginary troubles are harder to bear than actual ones.

There isn't a single human being who hasn't plenty to cry over, and the trick is to make the laughs outweigh the tears.

It is only the women whose eyes have been washed clear with tears who get the broad vision that makes them little sisters to all the world.

For in all the world there are no people so piteous and forlorn as those who are forced to eat the bitter bread of dependency in their old age, and find how steep are the stairs of another man's house. Wherever they go they know themselves unwelcome. Wherever they are, they feel themselves a burden. There is no humiliation of the spirit they are not forced to endure. Their hearts are scarred all over with the stabs from cruel and callous speeches.

Nobody wants to kiss when they are hungry.