Yes, I live in God, and shall eternally. It is His hand upholds me now; and death will be but an uplifting of me into His bosom.

Eternity is the divine treasure-house, and hope is the window, by means of which mortals are permitted to see, as through a glass darkly, the things which God is preparing.

... science and speculation pass into mystery at last.

To commiserate is sometimes more than to give, for money is external to a man's self, but he who bestows compassion communicates his own soul.

Yes, death, the hourly possibility of it, death is the sublimity of life.

It is our souls which are the everlastingness of God's purpose in this earth.

Let a disciple live as Christ lived, and he will easily believe in living again as Christ does.

Let God do with me what He will, anything He will; and, whatever it be, it will be either heaven itself, or some beginning of it.

The second childhood of a saint is the early infancy of a happy immortality, as we believe.

God would never have let us long for our friends with such a strong and holy love, if they were not waiting for us.

This earth will be looked back on like a lowly home, and this life of ours be remembered like a short apprenticeship to duty.

What good was speaking when I'd determined none of the world listened to one another, especially not when a woman was speaking.

The plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not.

Tell them there are no holes for your fingers in the masks of men. Tell them how could you ever even hope to love what you can't grab onto.

See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda.

Canada must be progressive, and Canada must be a just society.

From now until the end of the year I would like to eke out one victory, that's my short term aim. I am sure I can be competitive in 2004. Tennis is like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it.

I wasn't even sure I'd be able to walk. I couldn't even go outside. Maybe I was just burnt crisp from the gruelling schedule I had been keeping for years.

To be a poet is to have an appetite for a certain anxiety which, when tasted among the swirling sum of things existent or forfeit, causes, as the taste dies, joy.

Tell the truth once and for all and shut up forever.

In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.