Multitudes of people, drifting aimlessly to and fro without a set purpose, deny themselves such fulfillment of their capacities, and the satisfying happiness which attends it. They are not wicked, they are only shallow. They are not mean or vicious; they simply are empty -- shake them and they would rattle like gourds. They lack range, depth, and conviction. Without purpose their lives ultimately wander into the morass of dissatisfaction. As we harness our abilities to a steady purpose and undertake the long pull toward its accomplishment, rich compensations reward us. A sense of purpose simplifies life and therefore concentrates our abilities; and concentration adds power.
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The compensations of calamity are made apparent to the understanding also, after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the sure years reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all facts.
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It is one of those beautiful compensations of this life that no one can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
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It is one of the beautiful compensations of this life that no one can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
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It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life, that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
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It is one of the most beautiful compensations of this life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
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This is a world of compensations; and he who would be no slave, must consent to have no slave. Those who deny freedom to others, deserve it no...
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It is one of the beautiful compensations of life that no man can sincerely try to be kind to another, without helping himself.
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