transfused through him. He cannot alter or rub them out. They are not in
his memory, they are in HIM. His soul is as they have filled it, made it,
left it. The Changed Life, p. 27.

December 1st. Temper is significant, not in what it is alone but in what
it reveals. . . . It is a test for love, a symptom, a revelation of an
unloving nature at bottom. It is the intermittent fever which bespeaks
unintermittent disease within; the occasional bubble escaping to the
surface which betrays some rottenness underneath; a sample of the most
hidden products of the soul dropped involuntarily when off one's guard;
IN A WORD, the lightning form of a hundred hideous and un-Christian sins.
The Greatest Thing in the World, p. 34.

December 2d. You will find, as you look back upon your life, that the
moments that stand out, the moments when you have really lived, are the
moments when you have done things in a spirit of love. As memory scans
the past, above and beyond all the transitory pleasures of life there
leap forward those supreme hours when you have been enabled to do
unnoticed kindnesses to those round about you, things too trifling to
speak about, but which you feel have entered into your eternal life. The
Greatest Thing in the World, p. 60.

December 3d. If events change men, much more persons. No man can meet
another on the street without making some mark upon him. We say we
exchange words when we meet; what we exchange is souls. And when
intercourse is very close and very frequent, so complete is this exchange
that recognizable bits of the one soul begin to show in the other's
nature, and the second is conscious of a similar and growing debt to the
first. The Changed Life, p. 30.