Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.

Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.

I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions

The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service.

The little I have seen of the world teaches me to look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger. When I take the history of one poor heart that has sinned and suffered, and represent to myself the struggles and temptations it has passed through, the brief pulsations of joy, the feverish inquietude of hope and fear, the pressure of want, the desertion of friends, I would fain leave the erring soul of my fellow-man with Him from whose hand it came.

Life like an empty dream flits by.