The lintel low enough to keep out pomp and pride: The threshold high enough to turn deceit aside. - Henry van Dyke

And yet there is an anger that purifies the heart:
The anger of the better against the baser part,
Against the false and wicked, against the tyrant's sword,
Against the enemies of love, and all that hate the Lord.

So in the heart,
When, fading slowly down the past,
Fond memories depart,
And each that leaves it seems the last;
Long after all the rest are flown,
Returns a solitary tone,—
The after-echo of departed years,—
And touches all the soul to tears.

The simple life which blandly ignores all care and conflict, soon becomes flabby and invertebrate, sentimental and gelatinous.