Enveloped in a common mist, we seem to walk in clearness ourselves, and behold only the mist that enshrouds others.

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.

Do we not all agree to call rapid thought and noble impulse by the name of inspiration?

There is no private life which has not been determined by a wider public life.

Love at its highest flood rushes beyond its object, and loses itself in the sense of divine mystery.

There is hardly any mental misery worse than that of having our own serious phrases, our own rooted beliefs, caricatured by a charlatan or a hireling.

Our virtues are dearer to us the more we have had to suffer for them. It is the same with our children. All profound affection entertains a sacrifice. Our thoughts are often worse than we are, just as they are often better.