Adversity Is The Mint In Which God

Nothing Dies So Hard, Or Rallies So Often As Intolerance.

If Christ Is Not Divine, Every Impulse Of The Christian World Falls To A Lower Octave, And Light And Love And Hope Decline.

Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To Bathe In It. Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety,--all This Rust Of Life, Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. It Is Better Than Emery. Every Man Ought To Rub Himself With It. A Man Without Mirth Is Like A Wagon Without Springs, In Which One Is Caused Disagreeably To Jolt By Every Pebble Over Which It Runs.

The Last Person One Wants To Be Is Themselves. Sadly, That Is The Best Person To Be.

The Divine Mind Does Not Think For Us, Or Inspite Of Us, But Works In Us To Think, And To Will, And To Do.