Our deeds determine us ... as much as we determine our deeds.

Our deeds still travel with us from afar, And what we have been makes us what we are.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

One must be poor to know the luxury of giving.

In the man whose childhood has known caresses and kindness, there is always a fiber of memory that can be touched to gentle issues.

It is a wonderful subduer-this need of love, this hunger of the heart.

We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves.

It is seldom that the miserable can help regarding their misery as a wrong inflicted by those who are less miserable.

I think my life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.