Defeat Is A School In Which Truth

The Meanest, Most Contemptible Kind Of Praise Is That Which First Speaks Well Of A Man, And Then Qualifies It With A But.

Like A Bird She Seems To Wear Gay Plumage Unconsciously, As If It Grew Upon Her.

We Rejoice In God Since He Has Taught Us That Every Thing Which Is True In Us, Is But A Faint Expression Of What Is In Him. And Thus All Our Joys Become To Us The Echo Of Higher Joys, And Our Very Life Is As A Dream Of That Nobler Life, To Which We Shall Awaken When We Die.

When Our Cup Runs Over, We Let Others Drink The Drops That Fall, But Not A Drop From Within The Rim, And Call It Charity; When The Crumbs Are Swept From Our Table, We Think It Generous To Let The Dogs Eat Them; As If That Were Charity Which Permits Others To Have What We Cannot Keep.

I Don't Like These Cold, Precise, Perfect People, Who, In Order Not To Speak Wrong, Never Speak At All, And In Order Not To Do Wrong, Never Do Anything.