“There are griefs which grow with years.”

It is one mark of a superior mind to understand and be influenced by the superiority of others.

It is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best regulated administration of slavery.

If we let our friend become cold and selfish and exacting without a remonstrance, we are no true lover, no true friend.

Eyes that have never wept cannot comprehend sorrow.

If I am to write, I must have a room to myself, which shall be my room.

Your little child is the only true democrat.

True love ennobles and dignifies the material labors of life; and homely services rendered for love’s sake have in them a poetry that is immortal.

The world has been busy for some centuries in shutting and locking every door through which a woman could step into wealth, except the door of marriage.

In the gates of eternity the black hand and the white hand hold each other with equal clasp.

I make no manner of doubt that you threw a very diamond of truth at me, though you see it hit me so directly in the face that it wasn’t exactly appreciated, at first.

The heart has no tears to give,–it drops only blood, bleeding itself away in silence.

Treat ’em like dogs, and you’ll have dogs’ works and dogs’ actions. Treat ’em like men, and you’ll have men’s works.

My vocation to preach on paper.

By what strange law of mind is it that an idea long overlooked, and trodden under foot as a useless stone, suddenly sparkles out in new light, as a discovered diamond?

It’s a matter of taking the side of the weak against the strong, something the best people have always done.

Sweet souls around us watch us still, press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, with gentle helpings glide.

This is what extremely grieves us, that a man who never fought Should contrive our fees to pilfer, on who for his native land Never to this day had oar, or lance, or blister in his hand.

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

The great sickness and the grievous evil consist in this: that all the things that man finds written in books, he presumes to think of as true-and all the more so if the books are old.

Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.

Those who grieve find comfort in weeping and in arousing their sorrow until the body is too tired to bear the inner emotions.

I felt a deep grief that crouched and stayed still as if it was afraid to move.