At Every Crossroad On The Way That

No Living Creature, Not Even Man, Has Achieved, In The Centre Of His Sphere, What The Bee Has Achieved In Her Own: And Were Some One From Another World To Descend And Ask Of The Earth The Most Perfect Creation Of The Logic Of Life, We Should Needs Have To Offer The Humble Comb Of Honey.

All Mothers Are Rich When They Love Their Children. There Are No Poor Mothers, No Ugly Ones, No Old Ones. Their Love Is Always The Most Beautiful Of Joys.

Sacrifice May Be A Flower That Virtue Will Pluck On Its Road, But It Was Not To Gather This Flower That Virtue Set Forth On Its Travels.

No Great Inner Event Befalls Those Who Summon It Not

Happiness Will Never Be Any Greater Than The Idea We Have Of It.