A Life Is Black, Whiten It As

We Must Die Alone. To The Very Verge Of The Stream Our Friends May Accompany Us; They May Bend Over Us, They May Cling To Us There; But That One Long Wave From The Sea Of Eternity Washes Up To The Lips, Sweeps Us From The Shore, And We Go Forth Alone! In That Untried And Utter Solitude, Then, What Can There Be For Us But The Pulsation Of That Assurance, "i Am Not Alone, Because The Father Is With Me!

Profaneness Is A Brutal Vice. He Who Indulges In It Is No Gentleman.

In Some Way The Secret Vice Exhales Its Poison; And The Evil Passion, However Cunningly Masked, Stains Through To The Surface.

Truth Is The Root, But Human Sympathy Is The Flower Of Practical Life.

I Should Not Like To Preach To A Congregation Who All Believed As I Believe. I Would As Lief Preach To A Basket Of Eggs In Their Smooth Compactness And Oval Formality.