Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.

For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.

How very hard it is to be a Christian!

How good is life, the mere living!

Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.

Are there not, dear Michael, Two points in the adventure of the diver,- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge.

What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.