He, who every morning plans the transactions of the day, and follows that plan, carries a thread that will guide him through a labyrinth of the most busy life.

A house is built of logs and stone, of tiles and posts and piers; a home is built of loving deeds that stand a thousand years.

That men saw his mask, but the bishop saw his face. That men saw his life, but the bishop saw his conscience.

Melancholy is the happiness of being sad.

To love beauty is to see light.

There are souls which, crab-like, crawl continually toward darkness, going back in life rather than advancing in it, using what experience they have to increase their deformity, growing worse without ceasing, and becoming steeped more and more thoroughly in an intensifying wickedness.

What I feel for you seems less of earth and more of a cloudless heaven.