Today Nobility Is Gone: There Is Only

A Sick Man, Surrounded By Those Who Love Him, Nursed By Those Who Wish Earnestly That He Should Live, Will Recover (all Other Things Being Equal), When Another Patient Tended By Hirelings Will Die. Doctors Decline To See Unconscious Magnestism In This Phenomenon; For Them It Is The Result Of Intelligent Nursing, Of Exact Obedience To Their Orders; But Many A Mother Knows The Virtue Of Such Ardent Projections Of Strong, Unceasing Prayer.

However Gross A Man May Be, The Minute He Expresses A Strong And Genuine Affection, Some Inner Secretion Alters His Features, Animates His Gestures, And Colors His Voice. The Stupidest Man Will Often, Under The Stress Of Passion, Achieve Heights Of Eloquence, In Thought If Not In Language, And Seem To Move In Some Luminous Sphere. Goriot's Voice And Gesture Had At This Moment The Power Of Communication That Characterizes The Great Actor. Are Not Our Finer Feelings The Poems Of The Human Will?

It Is The Mark Of A Great Man That He Puts To Flight All Ordinary Calculations. He Is At Once Sublime And Touching, Childlike And Of The Race Of Giants.

Hope Is A Light Diet, But Very Stimulating.

The Happier A Man, The More Apt He Is To Tremble. In Hearts Exclusively Tender, Anxiety And Jealousy Are In Exact Proportion To Happiness.