Until we understand that our grief outweighs a thousand joys, we will never understand what Christianity is all about.

I am madness maddened! That wild madness that's only calm to comprehend itself

We are only what we are; not what we would be; nor every thing we hope for. We are but a step in a scale, that reaches further above us than below.

For, as when the red-cheeked, dancing girls, April and May, trip home to the wintry, misanthropic woods; even the barest, ruggedest, most thunder-cloven old oak will at least send forth some few green sprouts, to welcome such glad-hearted visitants . . .

There is a savor of life and immortality in substantial fare. Like balloons, we are nothing till filled.

What man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that same heavenly soul?

In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?