There is a sweet anguish springing up in our bosoms when a child's face brightens under the shadow of the waiting angel. There is an autumnal fitness when age gives up the ghost; and when the saint dies there is… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
In the history of man it has been very generally the case that when evils have grown insufferable they have touched the point of… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
Life, whether in this world or any other, is the sum of our attainment, our experience, our character. The conditions are secondary. In what… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
No man knows the genuineness of his convictions until he has sacrificed something for them. — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
Our life is what we make it. An insignificant game or a noble trial; a dream or a reality; a play of the senses… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
Setting is preliminary to brighter rising; decay is a process of advancement; death is the condition of higher and more fruitful life. — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
Life itself suggests a higher good than life itself can yield. — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
A true man never frets about his place in the world, but just slides into it by the gravitation of his nature, and swings… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
There is but a slight difference between the man who may be said to know nothing and him who thinks he knows everything. — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
The bosom can ache beneath diamond brooches; and many a blithe heart dances under coarse wool. — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
Can you conceive of anything that so represents the glory, and truth, and marvelousness of God's nature as the idea of peace? — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
The gospel has but a forced alliance with war. Its doctrine of human brotherhood would ring strangely between the opposed ranks. The bellowing speech… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
No language can express the power, and beauty, and heroism, and majesty of a mother's love. It shrinks not where man cowers, and grows… — Edwin Hubbel Chapin Copy Share Image
