Peace was the third emotion. Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotions made the ply of human life.

I have sought happiness through many ages and not found it.

Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.

Henry James seems most entirely in his element, doing that is to say what everything favors his doing, when it is a question of recollection. The mellow light which swims over the past, the beauty which suffuses even the commonest little figures of that

to teach without zest is a crime.

O friendship, I too will press flowers between the pages of Shakespeare's sonnets!

I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?