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

But certain winds will make men's temper bad.

... 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.

The scornful nostril and the high head gather not the odors that lie on the track of truth.

There was no gleam, no shadow, for the heavens, too, were one still, pale cloud; no sound or motion in anything but the dark river that flowed and moaned like an unresting sorrow.

When God makes His presence felt through us, we are like the burning bush: Moses never took any heed what sort of bush it was—he only saw the brightness of the Lord.

For what we call illusions are often, in truth, a wider vision of past and present realities - a willing movement of a man's soul with the larger sweep of the world's forces - a movement towards a more assured end than the chances of a single life.