For pain must enter into its glorified life of memory before it can turn into compassion.

The best travel is that which one can take by one's own fireside. In memory or imagination.

Well, well, my boy, if good luck knocks at your door, don't you put your head out at window and tell it to be gone about its business, that's all.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

If you deliver an opinion at all, it is mere stupidity not to do it with an air of conviction and well-founded knowledge. You make it your own in uttering it, and naturally get fond of it.

Time, like money, is measured by our needs.

... it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession.