There is an idea abroad among moral people that they should make their neighbors good. One person I have to make good: Myself. But my duty to my neighbor is much more nearly expressed by saying that I have to make him happy if I may.

Saints are sinners who kept on going.

But even if we take matrimony at its lowest, even if we regard it as no more than a sort of friendship recognized by the police, there must be degrees in the freedom and sympathy realized, and some principle to guide simple folk in their selection.

A Morning Prayer The day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man; help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound with industry. Give us to go blithely on our business all this day. Bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored and grant us in the end the gift of sleep.

All sorts of allowances are made for the illusions of youth, and none, or almost none for the disenchantment of age.

Everyday courage has few witnesses. But yours is no less noble because no drum beats for you and no crowds shout your name.

I am in the habit of looking not so much to the nature of a gift as to the spirit in which it is offered.