O the anguish of the thought that we can never atone to our dead for the stinted affection we gave them.

It always remains true that if we had been greater, circumstance would have been less strong against us.

What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?

If I have read religious history aright, faith, hope, and charity have not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the three concords; and it is possible, thank heaven! to have very erroneous theories and very sublime feelings.

I trust you as holy men trust God; you could do nought that was not pure and loving, though the deed might pierce me unto death.

and we must learn to accommodate ourselves to the discovery that some of those cunningly-fashioned instruments called human souls have only a very limited range of music, and will not vibrate in the least under a touch that fills others with tremulous rapture or quivering agony.

Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.