Well, well, Henry James is pretty good, though he is of the nineteenth century, and that glaringly.
Saints are sinners who kept on going.
To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.
Truth in spirit, not truth to the letter, is the true veracity.
To miss the joy is to miss everything.
Alan," cried I, "what makes ye so good to me? What makes ye care for such a thankless fellow?" Deed, and I don't, know" said Alan. "For just precisely what I thought I liked about ye, was that ye never quarrelled:โand now I like ye better!