The value of ourselves is but the value of our melancholy and our disquiet.

Brave old-flowers! Wall-flowers, Gilly flowers, Stocks! For even as the field-flowers, from which a trifle, a ray of beauty, a drop of perfume, divides them, they have charming names, the softest in the language; and each of them, like tiny, art-less ex-votos, or like medals bestowed by the gratitude of men, proudly bears three or four.

We can never judge a soul above the high water mark of our own.

Do we not all spend the greater part of our lives under the shadow of an event that has not yet come to pass?.

There is no soul that does not respond to love, for the soul of man is a guest that has gone hungry these centuries back.

At every crossroad on the way that leads to the future, each progressive spirit is opposed by a thousand men appointed to guard the past.

An act of goodness is of itself an act of happiness. No reward coming after the event can compare with the sweet reward that went with it.