A human being in this aged nation of ours is a very wonderful hole, the slow creation of long interchanging influences; and charm is a result of two such wholes, the one loving and the one loved.

Nature repairs her ravages,--repairs them with her sunshine and with human labor.

What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?

Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

Ingenious philosophers tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisure for mankind. Do not believe them; it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in.

For pain must enter into its glorified life of memory before it can turn into compassion.

I care only to know, if possible, the lasting meaning that lies in all religious doctrine from the beginning till now.