Yet habit – strange thing! what cannot habit accomplish?
I am, as I am; whether hideous, or handsome, depends upon who is made judge.
There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.
Heaven have mercy on us all – Presbyterians and Pagans alike – for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.
It is impossible to talk or to write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open.
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