I now know, by an almost fatalistic conformity with the facts, that my destiny is to travel.
I have often noticed that spoiled, petted children, usually have very little love for their parents, or indeed for any one but themselves.
It is an easy thing to call names; any fool is equal to that. . . and the weapon of vituperation is generally used by those who lack brains for argument or are upon the wrong side.
Good husbands make good wives.
Horace Dinsmore was, like his father, an upright, moral man, who paid an outward respect to the forms of religion, but cared nothing for the vital power of godliness.
Though not a remarkably precocious child in other respects, she seemed to have very clear and correct views on almost every subject connected with her duty to God and her neighbor; was very truthful both in word and deed, very strict in her observance of the Sabbath-though the rest of the family were by no means particular in that respect-very diligent in her studies; respectful to superiors, and kind to inferiors and equals; and she was gentle, sweet-tempered, patient, and forgiving to a remarkable degree.
Ah, what a sweetner of toil is love—love to a dear earthly parent, and still more love to Christ. There is no drudgery in the most menial employment where that is the motive power.
All political activity must serve and promote the good of the human person and be based on respect for his or her dignity.
The all but unanimous judgment seems to be that we, the democracies, are just as responsible for the rise of the dictators as the dictatorships themselves, and perhaps more so.
I have always been fascinated by paranoid people imagining conspiracies. I am fascinated by this in a critical way.
When my dad founded our church, he used either a globe or a map of the world behind him. It was symbolic of what Christ said: to go forth and preach hope to the world. We believe in the cross, but we just continued with the globe.