There's many a good bit o' work done with a sad heart.

A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

The perpetual mourner -- the grief that can never be healed -- is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning -- a new acquaintance with grief.

... we are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong.

You must mind and not lower the Church in people's eyes by seeming to be frightened about it for such a little thing.

A man deep-wounded may feel too much pain To feel much anger.

So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.