No great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this world.

Christianity is a formula: it is nothing more.

Charity is a flower not naturally of earthly growth, and it needs manuring with a promise of profit.

Could we see when and where we are to meet again, we would be more tender when we bid our friends goodbye.

Coleridge cried; "O God, how glorious it is to live!" Renan asks, "O God, when will it be worth while to live?" In Nature we echo the poet; in the world we echo the thinker.

Flowers belong to Fairyland: the flowers and the birds and the butterflies are all that the world has kept of its golden age--the only perfectly beautiful things on earth--joyous, innocent, half divine--useless, say they who are wiser than God.

What is failure except feebleness? And what is it to miss one's mark except to aim widely and weakly?