There are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence.

If Art does not enlarge men's sympathies, it does nothing morally.

I don't feel sure about doing good in any way now; everything seems like going on a mission to a people whose language I don't know.

Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.

That quiet mutual gaze of a trusting husband and wife is like the first moment of rest or refuge from a great weariness or a great danger-not to be interfered with by speech or action which would distract the sensations from the fresh enjoyment of repose.

What is opportunity to the man who can't use it? An unfecundated egg, which the waves of time wash away into nonentity.

After all, people may really have in them some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be very patient with each other, I think.