The extent of poverty in the world is much exaggerated. Our sensitiveness makes half our poverty; our fears – anxieties for ills that never happen – a greater part of the other half.
Example has far more followers than reason.
It is with a company as it is with a punch, everything depends upon the ingredients of which it in composed.
Excessive sensibility is only another name for morbid self-consciousness.
A mother is the best friend God ever gave.
The body of the sensualist is the coffin of a dead soul.
Few minds wear out; more rust out.
Something of a person’s character may be observed by how they smile. Some never smile they only grin.
What we call conscience in many instances, is only a wholesome fear of the law.
Pride is like the beautiful acacia, that lifts its head proudly above its neighbor plants-forgetting that it too, like them, has its roots in the dirt.
Bad taste is a species of bad morals.
We should not so much esteem our poverty as a misfortune, were it not that the world treats it so much as a crime.
In one important respect a man is fortunate in being poor. His responsibility to God is so much the less.
A book should be luminous not voluminous.
Loss of sincerity is loss of vital power.
We may learn from children how large a part of our grievances is imaginary. But the pain is just as real.
Whether one talks well depends very much upon whom he has to talk to.
God has created too few unmixed evils to warrant the belief that death is one of them. In all things else in nature, goodness so abounds that we are authorized to infer that it does not stop even at the grave. It is only that her footprints have become invisible.
Without death in the world, existence in it would soon become, through over-population, the most frightful of curses.
To death we owe our life; the passing of one generation opens a way for another.