Ideas, like ghosts, must be spoken to a little before they will explain themselves.
I’ll tell you, what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter – as I did!
I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.
I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
I never could have done what I have done, without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one object at a time.
I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.
I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.
I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by it.
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.
Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.
Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and his quiet home!
Grief never mended no broken bones.
