Stop a moment, cease your work, and look around you.

What, in the devil's name, is the use of respectability, with never so many gigs and silver spoons, if thou inwardly art the pitifulness of all men?

It is the first of all problems for a man to find out what kind of work he is to do in this universe.

Does it ever give thee pause that men used to have a soul? Not by hearsay alone, or as a figure of speech, but as a thruth that they knew and acted upon. Verily it was another world then, but yet it is a pity we have lost the tidings of our souls. We shall have to go in search of them again or worse in all ways shall befall us.

Prayer is and remains always a native and deepest impulse of the soul of man.

My whinstone house my castle is, I have my own four walls.

There is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a biography, the life of a man.