Imagination is a licensed trespasser: it has no fear of dogs, but may climb over walls and peep in at windows with impunity.

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

For character too is a process and an unfoldingamong our valued friends is there not someone or other who is a little too self confident and disdainful; whose distinguished mind is a little spotted with commonness; who is a little pinched here and protruberent there with native prejudices; or whose better energies are liable to lapse down the wrong channel under the influence of transient solicitations?

No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence.

It was not that she was out of temper, but that the world was not equal to the demands of her fine organism.

What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?

Our thoughts are often worse than we are.