“Never was there a more injurous mistake than to say it was thebusiness only of the clergy to care for souls.”

“You have tasted of death now,” said the old man. “Is it good?” “It is good,” said Mossy. “It is better than life.”“No,” said the old man: “it is only more life.”

“But I never just quite liked that ryhme.''Why not, child?''Because it seems to say one's as good as another, or two new ones are better than one that's lost. . . . Somehow, when once you've looked into anybody's eyes, right deep down into them, I mean, nobody will do for that one any more. Nobody, ever so beautiful or so good, will make up for that one going out of sight.”

“Thy will be done. I yield up everything.'The life is more than meat' -- then more than health;'The body more than raiment' -- then more than wealth;The hairs I made not, thou art numbering.Thou art my life--I the brook, thou the spring.Because thine eyes are open, I can see;Because thou art thyself, 'tis therefore I am me.”

“I tell you, there are more worlds, and more doors to them, than you will think of in many years!”

“Work done is of more consequence for the future than the foresight of an angel.”

“I don't know how to thank you.'Then I will tell you. There is only one way I care for. Do better, and grow better, and be better.”