[T]here are no judgments so harsh as those of the erring, the…

And when I lie in the green kirkyard, With the mould upon my breast, Say not that 'She did well — or ill,' Only, 'She did her best!'

Oh, if I could live four weeks longer! but no matter, no matter!

We never know through what divine mysteries of compensation the Great Father of the universe may be carrying out His sublime plan; and those three words, "God is love," ought to contain, to every doubting soul, the solution of all things.

When faith and hope fail, as they do sometimes, we must try charity, which is love in action. We must speculate no more on our duty, but simply do it. When we have done it, however blindly, perhaps Heaven will show us why.

[T]he only real parting is when there is no love left to part from.

"Get out o' Mr. Fletcher's road, ye idle, lounging, little —""Vagabond," I think the woman (Sally Walkins, once my nurse,) was going to say, but she changed her mind.