For character too is a process and an unfolding. . . among our valued friends is there not someone or other who is a little too self confident and disdainful. . . .

A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

... it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession.

We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves.

Souls live on in perpetual echoes.

... we are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong.

... the true seeing is within; and painting stares at you with an insistent imperfection.