Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the door she must not enter.

Will is not unfrequently weakness.

One thing is clear to me, that no indulgence of passion destroys the spiritual nature so much as respectable selfishness.

No story ever really ends, and I think I know why.

No man ever sank under the burden of the day. It is when tomorrow's burden is added to the burden of today that the weight is more than a man can bear.

We are not made for law, we are made for love.

I am perplexed at the stupidity of the ordinary religious being. In the most practical of all matters he will talk and speculate and try to feel, but he will not set himself to do.