And In Cases Where Profound Conviction Has

The State Of Society Is One In Which The Members Have Suffered Amputation From The Trunk, And Strut About So Many Walking Monsters, - A Good Finger, A Neck, A Stomach, An Elbow, But Never A Man. Man Is Thus Metamorphosed Into A Thing, Into Many Things. The Planter, Who Is Man Sent Out Into The Field To Gather Food, Is Seldom Cheered By Any Idea Of The True Dignity Of His Ministry. He Sees His Bushel And His Cart, And Nothing Beyond, And Sinks Into The Farmer, Instead Of Man On The Farm.

Society Acquires New Arts, And Loses Old Instincts.

Love Is The Bright Foreigner, The Foreign Self.

In Vain Produced, All Rays Return; Evil Will Bless, And Ice Will Burn.

The Way To Write Is To Throw Your Body At The Mark When Your Arrows Are Spent.