We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinnertime.

even those who call themselves 'intimate' know very little about each other - hardly ever know just how a sorrow is felt, and hurt each other by their very attempts at sympathy or consolation. We can bear no hand on our bruises.

Brothers are so unpleasant.

There is a great deal of unmapped country within us.

To the old, sorrow is sorrow; to the young, it is despair.

A blush is no language; only a dubious flag - signal which may mean either of two contradictories

How can one ever do anything nobly Christian, living among people with such petty thoughts?