Man Cannot Choose His Duties.

... When One's Outward Lot Is Perfect, The Sense Of Inward Imperfection Is The More Pressing.

I Have Nothing To Tell Except Travellers' Stories, Which Are Always Tiresome, Like The Description Of A Play Which Was Very Exciting To Those Who Saw It.

The Intensest Form Of Hatred Is That Rooted In Fear.

And We Must Learn To Accommodate Ourselves To The Discovery That Some Of Those Cunningly-fashioned Instruments Called Human Souls Have Only A Very Limited Range Of Music, And Will Not Vibrate In The Least Under A Touch That Fills Others With Tremulous Rapture Or Quivering Agony.

I Will To Make Life Less Bitter For A Few Within My Reach.