We are overhasty to speak as if God did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his love felt through ours.

But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which each feels that the other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to be done away with.

We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pride helps; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our hurts— not to hurt others.

We are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it is unpleasant to us.

There are glances of hatred that stab, and raise no cry of murder.

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?

The difficult task of knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes.