A girl of eighteen imagines the feelings behind the face that has moved her with its sympathetic youth as easily as primitive people imagined the humors of the gods in fair weather. What is she to believe in if not in this vision woven from within?

Our words have wings, but fly not where we would.

Plain women he regarded as he did the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and investigated by science.

There is nothing that will kill a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with but himself.

When God makes His presence felt through us, we are like the burning bush: Moses never took any heed what sort of bush it was—he only saw the brightness of the Lord.

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

Brothers are so unpleasant.