A Somebody Was Once A Nobody Who

How Many Thorns Of Human Nature - Hard, Sharp, Lifeless Protuberances That Tear And Wound Us, Narrow Prejudices, Bristling Conceits That Repel And Disgust Us - Are Arrested Developments, Calcified Tendencies, Buds Of Promise That Should Have Lifted A Branch Up Into The Sunny Day With Fruit; And Flowers To Delight The Heart Of Men, But Now All Grown Hard, Petrified, For Want Of Culture And A Congenial Soil And Climate.

The Most Precious Things Of Life Are Near At Hand, Without Money And Without Price. Each Of You Has The Whole Wealth Of The Universe At Your Very Door. All That I Ever Had, And Still Have, May Be Yours By Stretching Forth Your Hand And Taking It.

To The Scientist Nature Is A Storehouse Of Facts, Laws, Processes; To The Artist She Is A Storehouse Of Pictures; To The Poet She Is A Storehouse Of Images, Fancies, A Source Of Inspiration; To The Moralist She Is A Storehouse Of Precepts And Parables; To All She May Be A Source Of Knowledge And Joy.

The Fuel In The Earth Will Be Exhausted In A Thousand Or More Years, And Its Mineral Wealth, But Man Will Find Substitutes For These In The Winds, The Waves, The Sun's Heat, And So Forth.

There Is Hardly A Man On Earth Who Will Take Advice Unless He Is Certain That It Is Positively Bad.