Trying to be kind to others I often get my soul shredded into a kind of spiritual pasta.
There is a haughtiness of kindness which has the appearance of wickedness.
The world had somehow gone too far, and spontaneous kindness could never be so easy.
Nothing human disgusts me unless it’s unkind.
Kindness has its mishaps; often it is attributed to temperament; people are seldom willing to recognize it as the secret effort of a noble soul.
Kindness and a caring mind are two separate qualities. Kindness is manners. It is superficial custom, an acquired practice. Not so the mind. The mind is deeper, stronger, and, I believe, it is far more inconstant.
In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness.
If you’ve ever been homesick, or felt exiled from all the things and people that once defined you, you’ll know how important welcoming words and friendly smiles can be.
I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
Great persons are able to do great kindnesses.
Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
And for all his life it would be kindness and love that made him cry, never pain or persecution, which on the contrary only reinforced his spirit and his resolution.
