... learning to love any one is like an increase of property, -- it increases care, and brings many new fears lest precious things should come to harm.

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.

Time, like money, is measured by our needs.

I like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day. No dust has settled on one's mind then, and it presents a clear mirror to the rays of things.

There are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence.

Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far, The voice divine of human loyalty.

Children demand that their heroes should be freckle less, and easily believe them so: perhaps a first discovery to the contrary is less revolutionary shock to a passionate child than the threatened downfall of habitual beliefs which makes the world seem to totter for us in maturer life.