There is nothing so fine as a new friend, for in time they become the most precious of all the Comforter's gifts — old friends!

This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.

How lovely it is that there are words and sounds. Are not words and sounds rainbows and illusive bridges between things which are eternally apart?

They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided, that love and live in the same divine principle, the root and record of their friendship.
If absence be not death, neither is theirs.
Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still.
For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is omnipresent.
In this divine glass they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure.
This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.

I love the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.

Words create worlds.

Words passed, but words could no more prove an established innocence than words can enhance a love that exists.

Of all affairs, communication is the most wonderful.

We're fascinated by the words — but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

Friends share all things.

Conversations and jokes together, mutual rendering of good services, the reading together of sweetly phrased books, the sharing of nonsense and mutual attentions.

But words can conquer words.

Summer afternoon — summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

Words do inspire.