The mother's love is at first an absorbing delight, blunting all other sensibilities; it is an expansion of the animal existence.

I am not resigned: I am not sure life is long enough to learn that lesson.

God, immortality, duty - how inconceivable the first, how unbelievable the second, how peremptory and absolute the third.

And certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we are so fond of it.

I'm proof against that word failure. I've seen behind it. The only failure a man ought to fear is failure of cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.

Certainly the determining acts of her life were not ideally beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and novel impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.

Shall we, because we walk on our hind feet, assume to ourselves only the privilege of imperishability?