He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against

O Music! How It Grieves Me That Imprudence, Intemperance, Gluttony, Should Open Their Channels Into Thy Sacred Stream.

Truth Is A Point, The Subtlest And Finest; Harder Than Adamant; Never To Be Broken, Worn Away, Or Blunted. Its Only Bad Quality Is, That It Is Sure To Hurt Those Who Touch It; And Likely To Draw Blood, Perhaps The Life Blood, Of Those Who Press Earnestly Upon It.

We Talk On Principal, But Act On Motivation.

Men, Like Nails, Lose Their Usefulness When They Lose Their Direction And Begin To Bend.

Such Is Our Impatience, Such Our Hatred Of Procrastination, To Everything But The Amendment Of Our Practices And The Adornment Of Our Nature, One Would Imagine We Were Dragging Time Along By Force, And Not He Us.