Doubts, Like Facts, Are Stubborn Things.

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

Charity Is A Calm, Severe Duty; It Must Be Intellectual, To Be Advantageous. It Is A Strange Mistake That It Should Ever Be Considered A Merit; Its Fulfillment Is Only What We Owe To Each Other, And Is A Debt Never Paid To Its Full Extent.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past, What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last?

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.

Restraint Is The Golden Rule Of Enjoyment.