Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement.

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

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

Women should be protected from anyone's exercise of unrighteous power... but then, so should every other living creature.

The tale of the Divine Pity was never yet believed from lips that were not felt to be moved by human pity.

The impulse to confession almost always requires the presence of a fresh ear and a fresh heart; and in our moments of spiritual need, the man to whom we have no tie but our common nature, seems nearer to us than mother, brother, or friend. Our daily familiar life is but a hiding of ourselves from each other behind a screen of trivial words and deeds, and those who sit with us at the same hearth, are often the farthest off from the deep human soul within us, full of unspoken evil and unacted good.

To judge wisely, we must know how things appear to the unwise.