With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.

Susceptible persons are more affected by a change of tone that by unexpected words.

It is hard to believe long together that anything is "worth while," unless there is some eye to kindle in common with our own, some brief word uttered now and then to imply that what is infinitely precious to us is precious alike to another mind.

Until every good man is brave, we must expect to find many good women timid--too timid even to believe in the correctness of their own best promptings, when these would place them in a minority.

One's self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very unpleasant to find deprecated.

How unspeakably the lengthening of memories in common endears our old friends!

I'm not one of those that can see the cat in the dairy and wonder what she's there for.