Charity Is A Flower Not Naturally Of

Who Has Passed By The Fates Of Disillusion Has Died Twice.

Excess Always Carries It's Own Retributions.

Coleridge Cried; "o God, How Glorious It Is To Live!" Renan Asks, "o God, When Will It Be Worth While To Live?" In Nature We Echo The Poet; In The World We Echo The Thinker.

The Song That We Hear With Our Ears Is Only The Song That Is Sung In Our Hearts.

Christianity Has Ever Been The Enemy Of Human Love; It Has Forever Cursed And Expelled And Crucified The One Passion Which Sweetens And Smiles On Human Life, Which Makes The Desert Blossom As The Rose, And Which Glorifies The Common Things And Common Ways Of Earth. It Made Of This, The Angel Of Life, A Shape Of Sin And Darkness ... Even In The Unions Which It Reluctantly Permitted, It Degraded And Dwarfed The Passion Which It Could Not Entirely Exclude, And Permitted It Coarsely To Exist For The Mere Necessity Of Procreation.