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When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.

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Different taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.

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The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are g...more

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A woman's hopes are woven of sunbeams a shadow annihilates them.

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Let my body dwell in poverty, and my hands be as the hands of the toiler; but let my soul be as a temple of remembrance where the treasures of knowled...more

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It is just that I don’t know how I could live without the hope of her. It would be like learning to live with wooden legs.

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what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.

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It seems as you'll never know the rights of it; but that doesn't hinder there being a rights, Master Marner, for all it's dark to you and me.''No,' sa...more