We never know through what divine mysteries of compensation the Great…

"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.

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!'

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

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

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.

It's astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it.