It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.

The law is what it is-a majestic edifice, sheltering all of us, each stone of which rests on another.

As a man lives and thinks, so he will write.

Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives.

The talked-about is always the last to hear the talk . . .

Religion was nearly dead because there was no longer real belief in future life; but something was struggling to take its place - service - social service - the ants creed, the bees creed.

One's eyes are what one is, one's mouth is what one becomes.