Those bitter sorrows of childhood!-- when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.

It’s rather a strong check to one’s self-complacency to find how much of one’s right doing depends on not being in want of money.

Letter-writing I imagine is counted as 'work' from which you must abstain, and I scribble this letter simply from the self-satisfied notion that you will like to hear from me. You see, I have asked no questions, which are the torture-screws of correspondence. Hence you have nothing to answer.

The pride of the body is a barrier against the gifts that purify the soul.

For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love.

It's all one web, sir. The prosperity of the country is one web.

It is pleasant to have a kind word now and then when one is not near enough to have a kind glance or a hearty shake by the hand.