Death, Is Not An End, But A

No Great Truth Bursts Upon Man Without Having Its Hemisphere Of Darkness And Sorrow.

The Downright Fanatic Is Nearer To The Heart Of Things Than The Cool And Slippery Disputant.

There Is No Doubt Of The Essential Nobility Of That Man Who Pours Into Life The Honest Vigor Of His Toil, Over Those Who Compose The Feathery Foam Of Fashion That Sweeps Along Broadway; Who Consider The Insignia Of Honor To Consist In Wealth And Indolence; And Who, Ignoring The Family History, Paint Coats Of Arms To Cover Up The Leather Aprons Of Their Grandfathers.

The More We Sympathize With Excellence, The More We Go Out Of Self, The More We Love, The Broader And Deeper Is Our Personality.

Profaneness Is A Brutal Vice. He Who Indulges In It Is No Gentleman.