Ah! My Poor Brain Is Racked And

Children, Like Dogs, Have So Sharp And Fine A Scent That They Detect And Hunt Out Everything--the Bad Before All The Rest. They Also Know Well Enough How This Or That Friend Stands With Their Parents; And As They Practice No Dissimulation Whatever, They Serve As Excellent Barometers By Which To Observe The Degree Of Favor Or Disfavor At Which We Stand With Their Parents.

Sometimes Our Fate Resembles A Fruit Tree In Winter. Who Would Think That Those Branches Would Turn Green Again And Blossom, But We Hope It, We Know It.

While Man's Desires And Aspirations Stir He Cannot Choose But Err.

The Bad Thing Is That Thinking About Thought Doesn't Help At All; One Has To Have It From Nature So That The Good Ideas Appear Before Us Like Free Children Of God Calling To Us: Here We Are.

When We See The Many Grave-stones Which Have Fallen In, Which Have Been Defaced By The Footsteps Of The Congregation, Which Lie Buried Under The Ruins Of The Churches, That Have Themselves Crumbled Together Over Them; We May Fancy The Life After Death To Be As A Second Life, Into Which Man Enters In The Figure, Or The Picture Or The Inscription, And Lives Longer There Than When He Was Really Alive. But This Figure Also, This Second Existence, Dies Out Too, Sooner Or Later. Time Will Not Allow Himself To Be Cheated Of His Rights With The Monuments Of Men Or With Themselves.