Sympathy with joy intensifies the sum of sympathy in the world, sympathy with pain does not really diminish the amount of pain.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword! Some kill their love when they are young, And some when they are old; Some strangle with the hands of Lust, Some with the hands of Gold: The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold. Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.

memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man's face. It cannot be concealed.

Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect - simply a confession of failures.

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons.

Youth! There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to Life. The old are in Life's lumber