No Man Knows The Genuineness Of His

Physically, Man Is But An Atom In Space, And A Pulsation In Time. Spiritually, The Entire Outward Universe Receives Significance From Him, And The Scope Of His Existence Stretches Beyond The Stars.

A Man That Simply Loads Himself Down With Possessions Of Which He Has No Actual Need, When He Dies Slips Out Of Them--as A Little Insect Might Slip Out Of Some Parasite Shell Into Which It Has Ensconced Itself--into The Grave, And Is Forgotten.

The Highest Genius Never Flowers In Satire, But Culminates In Sympathy With That Which Is Best In Human Nature, And Appeals To It.

It Is Because We Underrate Thought, Because We Do Not See What A Great Element It Is In Religious Life, That There Is So Little Of Practical And Consistent Religion Among Us.

Many A Man Who Might Walk Over Burning Ploughshares Into Heaven Stumbles From The Path Because There Is Gravel In His Shoes.