You may search for them in the shops and markets and not find them, while they are here, close beside you, in every corner of life's many-colored corners, and in every breath of its breathing... They may lie in a passing moment, or a fleeting emotion, which carries the heart on its back up to the higher regions, gives it deep draughts of rapture, and brings it back to earth, to sing over and over its sweet, living songs...

Time itself almost stops, spellbound by the artlessness of childhood; for in it lie hidden the secrets of the ages.

This picture you cannot buy with money... for who can purchase purity and an easy conscience... and what would the price be?

And this bond that forms between children and all other living creatures — how is it to be explained? And in what words is it to be expressed?

And this, too, cannot be bought with money: solitude and stillness, where eternity descends, and man's ties with humanity take crystal form.

How do you measure the rapture that fills the mother's heart and flows through the veins of her nursing babe?...