Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another, as a general rule.

Beloved, let us live so well our work shall still be better for our love, and still our love be sweeter for our work.

Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence; and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.

Men get opinions as boys learn to spell by reiteration chiefly.

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my father’s name; Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! My books!

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness; Round our restlessness, His rest.