The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.

We are all of us, in this world, more or less like St. January, whom the inhabitants of Naples worship one day, and pelt with baked apples the next.

Indifferent souls never part. Impassioned souls part, and return to one another, because they can do no better.

In youth, grief comes with a rush and overflow, but it dries up, too, like the torrent. In the winter of life it remains a miserable pool, resisting all evaporation.

Kindness causes us to learn, and to forget, many things.

Miracles are God's coups d'etat.

Resignation is, to some extent, spoiled for me by the fact that it is so entirely conformable to the laws of common-sense. I should like just a little more of the supernatural in the practice of my favorite virtue.