Sorrow is the great idealizer.

Be He nowhere else, God is in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles.

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree was ridged inch deep with pearl.

Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed, And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, Leaving it richer for the growth of truth.

Evil is a far more cunning and persevering propagandist than good, for it has no inward strength, and is driven to seek countenance and sympathy.

What men call luck Is the prerogative of valiant souls, The fealty life pays its rightful kings.

Time makes ancient good uncouth.