All mothers are rich when they love their children. There are no poor mothers, no ugly ones, no old ones. Their love is always the most beautiful of joys.

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

When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

If you love yourself meanly, childishly, timidly, even so shall you love your neighbor.

In any event, a truth that disheartens, because it is true, is still of far more value than the most stimulating of falsehoods.

The thoughts you think will irradiate you as though you are a transparent vase.

Wisdom requires no form; her beauty must vary, as varies the beauty of flame. She is no motionless goddess, for ever couched on her throne.