The more sincere we are in our belief, as a rule, the less demonstrative we are.
We are never ripe till we have been made so by suffering.
No grace can save any man unless he helps himself.
The truest self-respect is not to think of self.
Scepticism is a barren coast, without a harbor or lighthouse.
It is the color which love wears, and cheerfulness, and joy – these three. It is the light in the window of the face by which the heart signifies to father, husband, or friend that it is at home and waiting.
Sophistry is the fallacy of argument.
Sorrow is Mount Sinai. If one will, one may go up and talk with God, face to face.
Sorrows, as storms, bring down the clouds close to the earth; sorrows bring heaven down close; and they are instruments of cleansing and purifying.
There are sorrows that are not painful, but are of the nature of some acids, and give piquancy and flavor to life.
The soul is a temple; and God is silently building it by night and by day. Precious thoughts are building it; disinterested love is building it; all-penetrating faith is building it.
There are some men’s souls that are so thin, so almost destitute of what is the true idea of soul, that were not the guardian angels so keen-sighted, they would altogether overlook them.
There is nothing that is so wonderfully created as the human soul. There is something of God in it. We are infinite in the future, though we are finite in the past.
A cobweb is as good as the mightiest cable when there is strain upon it.
Not that which men do worthily, but that which they do successfully, is what history makes haste to record.
Success surely comes with conscience in the long run, other things being equal. Capacity and fidelity are commercially profitable qualities.
Every fresh act of benevolence is the herald of deeper satisfaction; every charitable act a stepping-stone towards heaven.
The Bible stands alone in human literature in its elevated conception of manhood, in character and conduct.
A cunning man overreaches no one half as much as himself.
Experience is the mother of custom.