Habit does much to reconcile us to unpleasantness.
Truth is like heat or light; its vibrations are endless, and are endlessly felt.
In connection with death, or birth, or love, modesty is only a rather puerile self-consciousness.
Convictions do not imply reasons.
Twenty-five years ago, Christmas was not the burden that it is now; there was less haggling and weighing, less quid pro quo, less fatigue of body, less weariness of soul; and, most of all, there was less loading up with trash.
gossip, after it reaches a certain point of insult and falsehood, becomes a source of amusement to its victims.