Receptiveness is a rare and massive power, like fortitude.
Better a wrong will than a wavering; better a steadfast enemy than an uncertain friend; better a false belief than no belief at all.
Human experience is usually paradoxical.
He had the superficial kindness of a good-humored, self-satisfied nature, that fears no rivalry, and has encountered no contrarieties.
In the first moments when we come away from the presence of death, every other relation to the living is merged, to our feeling, in the great relation of a common nature and a common destiny.
Loquacity with tongue or pen is its own reward – or, punishment.
Dear Friends all, A thousand Christmas pleasures and blessings to you – good resolutions and bright hopes for the New Year! Amen. People who can’t be witty exert themselves to be pious or affectionate.
If I could only fancy myself clever, it would be better, but to be a failure of Nature and to know it is not a comfortable lot. It is the last lesson one learns, to be contented with one’s inferiority – but it must be learned.
The worst service, I fancy, that anyone can do for truth, is to set silly people writing on its behalf.
Yes, Isaac Taylor, who has just published ‘The World of Mind,’ is the Isaac Taylor, author of the ‘Natural History of Enthusiasm.’ I dare say by this time there is a want of fatty particles in his brain.
People who write finely must not expect to be left in repose; they will be molested with thanks, at least.
Some people are born to make life pretty, and others to grumble that it is not pretty enough.
What is better than to love and live with the loved? – But that must sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury.
The perpetual mourner – the grief that can never be healed – is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning – a new acquaintance with grief.
Joy and sorrow are both my perpetual companions, but the joy is called Past and the sorrow Present.
I am feeling easy now, and you will well understand that after undergoing pain this ease is opening paradise. Invalids must be excused for being eloquent about themselves.
But, bless us, things may be lovable that are not altogether handsome, I hope?
To most mortals there is a stupidity which is unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether acceptable – else, indeed, what would become of social bonds?
The select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest.
We are overhasty to speak as if God did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his love felt through ours.