Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it.

For every child that is born, it brings with it the hope that God is not yet disappointed with man.

A dewdrop is a perfect integrity that has no filial memory of its parentage.

Pessimism is a form of mental dipsomania; it disdains healthy nourishment, indulges in the strong drink of denunciation, and creates an artificial dejection which thirsts for a stronger draught.

Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love.