Love, I take it, must look toward something not quite accessible, something not quite understood.

While it is well enough to leave footprints on the sands of time, it is even more important to make sure they point in a commendable direction.

In what else, pray, does man differ from the other animals except in that he is used by words?

Good and evil keep very exact accounts... and the face of every man is their ledger.

Sad hours and glad hours, and all hours, pass over; One thing unshaken stays: Life, that hath Death for spouse, hath Chance for lover; Whereby decays, Each thing save one thing: mid this strife diurnal, Of hourly change begot, Love that is God-born, bides as God eternal, And changes not; Nor means a tinseled dream pursuing lovers, Find altered by-and-bye, When, with possession, time anon discovers, Trapped dreams must die, - For he that visions God, of mankind gathers, One manlike trait alone, And reverently imputes to Him a father's love for his son.

What really matters is that there is so much faith and love and kindliness which we can share with and provoke in others, and that by cleanly, simple, generous living we approach perfection in the highest and most lovely of all arts. . . . But you, I think, have always comprehended this.

People must have both their dreams and their dinners in this world, and when we go out of it we must take what we find. That is all.