To Be Beloved Is All I Need,

There Are Three Classes Into Which All The Women Past Seventy That Ever I Knew Were To Be Divided: 1. That Dear Old Soul; 2. That Old Woman; 3. That Old Witch.

I Never Knew A Trader In Philanthropy Who Was Not Wrong In His Head Or Heart Somewhere Or Other.

For Mother's Sake The Child Was Dear, And Dearer Was The Mother For The Child.

I Am Never Very Forward In Offering Spiritual Consolation To Any One In Distress Or Disease. I Believe That Such Resources, To Be Of Any Service, Must Be Self-evolved In The First Instance. I Am Something Of The Quaker's Mind In This, And Am Inclined To Wait For The Spirit.

Joy Is The Sweet Voice, Joy The Luminous Cloud. We In Ourselves Rejoice! And Thence Flows All That Charms Or Ear Or Sight, All Melodies The Echoes Of That Voice, All Colours A Suffusion From That Light.