The worst service, I fancy, that anyone can do for truth, is to set silly people writing on its behalf.

Brothers are so unpleasant.

Love supreme defies all sophistry.

Our selfishness is so robust and many-clutching that, well encouraged, it easily devours all sustenance away from our poor little scruples.

Worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral. They have the same effect of grating incongruity as the sound of a coarse voice breaking the solemn silence of night.

We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.

Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear.