The saints are the sinners who keep on trying.

Wherever we are, it is but a stage on the way to somewhere else, and whatever we do, however well we do it, it is only a preparation to do something else that shall be different.

Perpetual devotion to what a man calls his business is only to be sustained by perpetual neglect of many other things.

There is no music like a little river's . . . It takes the mind out-of-doors . . . and . . . it quiets a man down like saying his prayers.

Am I no a bonny fighter?

Love- what is love? A great and aching heart; Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair

He who sows hurry reaps indigestion.