Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety-all This Rust Of

It Is Not Work That Kills Men; It Is Worry. Worry Is Rust Upon The Blade.

Love Is The River Of Life In This World.

Every Man Carries A Menagerie In Himself; And, By Stirring Him Up All Around, You Will Find Every Sort Of Animal Represented There.

If We Are Like Christ, We Shall Seek, Not To Absorb, But To Reflect The Light Which Falls Upon Others, And Thus We Shall Become Pure And Spotless.

The Aster Has Not Wasted Spring And Summer Because It Has Not Blossomed. It Has Been All The Time Preparing For What Is To Follow, And In Autumn It Is The Glory Of The Field, And Only The Frost Lays It Low. So There Are Many People Who Must Live Forty Or Fifty Years, And Have The Crude Sap Of Their Natural Dispositions Changed And Sweetened Before The Blossoming Time Can Come; But Their Lives Have Not Been Wasted.