The imagination is the secret and marrow of civilization. It is the very eye of faith.

Nothing can be further apart than true humility and servility.

It is a view of God that compensates every thing else, and enables the soul to rest in His bosom. How, when the child in the night screams with terror, hearing sounds that it knows not of, is that child comforted and put to rest? Is it by a philosophical explanation that the sounds were made by the rats in the partition? Is it by imparting entomological knowledge? No; it is by the mother taking the child in her lap, and singing sweetly to it, and rocking it. And the child thinks nothing of the explanation, but only of the mother.

Pain is God's midwife, that helps some virtue into existence.

That endless book, the newspaper, is our national glory.

A mother is as different from anything else that God ever thought of, as can possibly be. She is a distinct and individual creation.

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.