Is witch’d like me till his days shall cease,—
For in his eyes, wheresoever he wander,
Flashes the vision of God’s white Peace.
R. Buchanan.
There is no short cut, no patent tramroad, to wisdom: after all the centuries of invention, the soul’s path lies through the thorny wilderness which must be still trodden in solitude, with bleeding feet, with sobs for help, as it was trodden by them of old time.
George Eliot (The Lifted Veil).
Let us think less of men and more of God.
Sometimes the thought comes swiftening over us,