Truth is the cry of all, but the game of few.

Wherever comes man comes tragedy and comedy also.

A happy childhood is the pledge of a ripe manhood.

Children are illuminated text-books, breviaries of doctrine, living bodies of divinity, open always and inviting their elders to peruse the characters inscribed on the lovely leaves.

A candid spirit is mightier than the most persistent dogmatism.

Modesty, that perennial flower planted instinctively in the human breast, blooms therein only as continence guards and virtue keeps.

None can teach admirably if not loving his task.

A state, a community, caring first for all its children, providing amply for their spiritual as for their temporal well-being, has organized the primitive Eden.

Sloth is the tempter that beguiles and expels from paradise.

Where there is a mother in the house, matters speed well.

Like birds of passage, the instincts drift the soul adventurously beyond the horizon of sensible things, as if intent on convoying it to the mother country from whence it had flown.

Creeds, like other goods, pass by inheritance to descendants.

Truth is inclusive of all the virtues, is older than sects and schools, and, like charity, more ancient than mankind.

Without a mythology, faith is impersonal and heartless.

Every noble life becomes a revelation of the spirit which the love and joy of mankind cannot let perish from remembrance.

Evil is retributive: every trespass slips fetters on the will, holds the soul in durance till contrition and repentance restore it to liberty.

A chaste generation would restore Paradise.

The fable runs that the gods mix our pains and pleasure in one cup, and thus mingle for us the adulterate immortality which we alone are permitted here to enjoy. Voluptuous raptures, could we prolong these at pleasure, would dissipate and dissolve us. A sip is the most that mortals are permitted from any goblet of delight.

Memory marks the horizon of our consciousness, imagination its zenith.

Love is the key to felicity, nor is there a heaven to any who love not. We enter Paradise through its gates only.

A full draught of oblivion is nature's elixir for restoring the body's tone and tension after being drugged with the opium of the day's delusions. Sleep holds the keys to the mysteries of divination, the laws of sanity. Sleep and dream, so fabled the wise ancients, sway the destinies of mortals. Our dreams drench us in sense, and sense steeps us again in dreams. Sleep is the sure antidote of insanity, the cure of idiocy, the giant of strengths, without whose potent anodynes every creature would run rabid, perception lapse into inanity. Only as we sleep do we survive the fever of thought or quench its flame.

A check on itself, evil subserves the economies of good, as it were a condiment to give relish to good.

Anger is the resentment of the animal, and gentle blood alone makes the gentleman.

The history of religions, of which Christianity is a transcendent element, awaits the deepest study. It requires Bibles to free from Bibles. Comparative theology is the best of studies for liberating one's mind from geographical and traditional limitations. Like travelling, it shows the globe in its varying climates and zones, its latitude and longitude of intelligence. When the races shall have learned each other's language, the significance of things to thoughts, one faith becomes universal, one brotherhood.

Whatsoever stirs the stagnant currents, setting these flowing in wholesome directions, promotes brisk spirits and productive thinking. The less of routine, the more of life.

I find my past in my present, and from these forecast my future.

Pity the mother who assumes the name without being all this implies!

Who speaks to the instincts speaks to the deepest in man, and finds the readiest response.

Despair snuffs the sun from the firmament.

Every dogma embodies some shade of truth to give it seeming currency.

Pleasure, that immortal essence, the beauteous bead sparkling in the cup, effervesces soon and subsides.

To be ignorant of one's ignorance is the malady of the ignorant.

Heaven trims our lamps while we sleep.