‘Tis love that makes the world go round, my baby.
Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home!
Send forth the child and childish man together, and blush for the pride that libels our own old happy state, and gives its title to an ugly and distorted image.
There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require, in their vocation, scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in theirs.
No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it to anyone else.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.
Most men are individuals no longer so far as their business, its activities, or its moralities are concerned. They are not units but fractions.
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