More helpful than all wisdom is one draught of simple human pity that will not forsake us.

autobiography at least saves a man or woman that the world is curious about from the publication of a string of mistakes called 'Memoirs.

Would not love see returning penitence afar off, and fall on its neck and kiss it?

These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.

Under every guilty secret there is hidden a brood of guilty wishes, whose unwholesome infecting life is cherished by the darkness.

Perhaps his might be one of the natures where a wise estimate of consequences is fused in the fires of that passionate belief which determines the consequences it believes in.

Death is the only physician, the shadow of his valley the only journeying that will cure us of age and the gathering fatigue of years.