Christianity Is An Idea, And As Such

A Lonely Fir-tree Is Standing On A Northern Barren Height; It Sleeps, And The Ice And Snow-drift Cast Round It A Garment Of White.

The Men Of The Past Had Convictions, While We Moderns Have Only Opinions.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

The Same Fact That Boccaccio Offers In Support Of Religion Might Be Adduced In Behalf Of A Republic: "it Exists In Spite Of Its Ministers.

I Have A Most Peaceable Disposition. My Desires Are For A Modest Hut, A Thatched Roof, But A Good Bed, Good Food, Very Fresh Milk And Butter, Flowers In Front Of My Window And A Few Pretty Trees By My Door. And Should The Good Lord Wish To Make Me Really Happy, He Will Allow Me The Pleasure Of Seeing About Six Or Seven Of My Enemies Hanged Upon Those Trees.