Here I begin to know that blessedness is what can be snatched out the passing day and put away to think of afterwards.

Truth is a hard master, and costly to serve, but it simplifies all problems.

Beauty is a perilous gift.

Life goes not in a straight line, lad, but in a circle. The first half we spend venturing as far as the world's end from home and kin and stillness, and the latter half brings us back, by roundabout ways but surely, to that state from which we set out.

Here I begin to know that blessedness is what can be snatched out the passing day and put away to think of afterwards.

What are wits for unless a man uses them?

Even a saint may take pleasure, in retrospect, in having been once desired