When Men Enter Into The State Of

When A Man Can Look Upon The Simple Wild-rose, And Feel No Pleasure, His Taste Has Been Corrupted.

There Is No Slave Out Of Heaven Like A Loving Woman; And Of All Loving Women, There Is No Such Slave As A Mother.

In This World It Is Not What We Take Up, But What We Give Up, That Makes Us Rich.

There Is No Liberty To Men Who Know Not How To Govern Themselves.

Home Should Be An Oratorio Of The Memory, Singing To All Our After Life Melodies And Harmonies Of Old-remembered Joy.