Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or the darkness of destructive selfishness. This is the judgment. Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, What are you doing for others?
Public work brings a vicarious but assured sense of immortality. We may be poor, weak, timid, in debt to our landlady, bullied by our nieces, stiff in the joints, shortsighted and distressed; we shall perish, but the cause endures; the cause is great.
She’s the sort of woman who lives for others—you can always tell the others by their hunted expression.
Do not we find that we often desire the happiness of others without any . . . selfish intention? How few have thought upon this part of our constitution which we call a public sense?
The burning conviction that we have a holy duty toward others is often a way of attaching our drowning selves to a passing raft. What looks like giving a hand is often a holding on for dear life.
Suspicion of one’s own motives is especially necessary for the philanthropist and the executive.
Our nature abhors a moral and intellectual vacuum. Passion and self-interest may be our chief motives; but we hate to admit the fact even to ourselves. We are not happy unless our acts of passion can be made to look as though they were dictated by reason, unless self-interest be explained and embellished so as to seem to be idealistic.
Maybe selflessness was only selfishness on another level.
It’s bad enough in life to do without something you want; but confound it, what gets my goat is not being able to give somebody something you want them to have.
There was no getting away from her hearty hospitality, no escaping her prodigality of presents. It was dangerous to praise or even to approve of any thing belonging to herself in her hearing; if it had been the carpet under her feet or the shawl on her shoulders, either would instantly have been stripped off to offer.
You have no idea, sir, how difficult it is to be the victim of benevolence.
It may be more blessed to give than to receive, but there is more grace in receiving than giving. When you receive, whom do you love and praise? The giver. When you give, the same holds true.
Charity is a calm, severe duty; it must be intellectual to be advantageous. It is a strange mistake that it should ever be considered a merit; its fulfillment is only what we owe to each other, and is a debt never paid to its full extent.
Do not give, as many rich men do, like a hen that lays her egg and then cackles.
The rule is, we are to give as we would receive, cheerfully, quickly, and without hesitation; for there’s no grace in a benefit that sticks to the fingers.
While we do our good works let us not forget that the real solution lies in a world in which charity will have become unnecessary.
You often say, “I would give, but only to the deserving.” . . . Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and nights, is worthy of all else from you. And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream. . . . See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and an instrument of giving. For in truth it is life that gives unto life—while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness.
