Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.
When you get me a good man made out of arguments, I will get you a good dinner with reading you the cookery-book.
When a man has seen the woman whom he would have chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor will usually depend on her resolution rather than on his.
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?
We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the brood of desire.
We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we have been making up our world entirely without it.
We all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, or some new motive is born.
To have in general but little feeling, seems to be the only security against feeling too much on any particular occasion.
There is no sorrow I have thought more about than that – to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail.
There is no general doctrine which is not capable of eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men.
There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
