There are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence.

Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far, The voice divine of human loyalty.

I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how could anyone find an intense interest in life? And many do.

It is a sad weakness in us, after all, that the thought of a person's death consecrates him or her anew to us. It is as if life were not sacred too, as if it were comparatively a small thing to fail in love and reverence to the brother or sister who has to climb the whole toilsome mountain with us. It seems as if all our tears and tenderness were due to the one who is spared that hard journey.

To superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did indeed cause him some difficulty about the fit of his satin stocks, for which chins were at that time useful.

Worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral.

The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.