Affection is the broadest basis of a good life.

What is better than to love and live with the loved? -- But that must sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury.

There are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence.

It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.

Each thought is a nail that is driven In structures that cannot decay; And the mansion at last will be given To us as we build it each day.

With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.

I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how could anyone find an intense interest in life? And many do.