even those who call themselves 'intimate' know very little about each other - hardly ever know just how a sorrow is felt, and hurt each other by their very attempts at sympathy or consolation. We can bear no hand on our bruises.

The poverty of our imagination is no measure of say the world's resources. Our posterity will no doubt get fuel in ways that we are unable to devise for them.

Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous.

... the majority of us scarcely see more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the faultiness of our own arguments, orthe dulness [sic] of our own jokes.

Life seems to go on without effort when I am filled with music.

We have all our secret sins; and if we knew ourselves we should not judge each other harshly.

One couldn't carry on life comfortably without a little blindness to the fact that everything has been said better than we can put it ourselves.