The fact is, the secret of happiness is the sense of proportion.

One must desire something to be alive.

The anger of slow, mild, loving people has a lasting quality that mere bad-tempered folk cannot understand.

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.

To talk over a quarrel, with its inevitable accompaniment of self-justification, is too much like handling cobwebs to be very successful.

One must desire something to be alive; perhaps absolute satisfaction is only another name for Death.

Grief is the price Love pays for being in the same world with Death.