We must die alone. To the very verge of the stream our friends may accompany us; they may bend over us, they may cling to us there; but that one long wave from the sea of eternity washes up to the lips, sweeps us from the shore, and we go forth alone! In that untried and utter solitude, then, what can there be for us but the pulsation of that assurance, "I am not alone, because the Father is with me!

Many a man who might walk over burning ploughshares into heaven stumbles from the path because there is gravel in his shoes.

It is those who make the least display of their sorrow who mourn the deepest.

Hill and valley, seas and constellations, are but stereotypes of divine ideas appealing to and answered by the living soul of man.

There are daily martyrdoms occurring of more or less self-abnegation, and of which the world knows nothing.

We move too much in platoons; we march by sections; we do not live in our vital individuality enough; we are slaves to fashion, in mind and in heart, if not to our passions and appetites.

For soon, very soon do men forget Their friends upon whom Death's seal is set.