The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary.

A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.

How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.

How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess, is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, when by your laws, your actions and your speech, you contradict the very things I teach?

The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.

And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.