It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom.

It is the curse of prosperity that it takes work away from us, and shuts that door to hope and health of spirit.

It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom.

Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart must hold both sisters, never seen apart.

The swelling and towering omnibuses, the huge trucks and wagons and carriages, the impetuous hansoms and the more sobered four-wheelers, the pony-carts, donkey-carts, hand-carts, and bicycles which fearlessly find their way amidst the turmoil, with foot-passengers winding in and out, and covering the sidewalks with their multitude, give the effect of a single monstrous organism, which writhes swiftly along the channel where it had run in the figure of a flood till you were tired of that metaphor. You are now a molecule of that vast organism.

A friend knows how to allow for mere quantity in your talk, and only replies to the quality.

The book which you read from a sense of duty, or because for any reason you must, does not commonly make friends with you.