Events Are Only The Shells Of Ideas;

The True Church Is Not An Institution To Be Kept Apart From The World Because The World "is Common And Unclean," But A Vital Heart Of Truth And Love, Beating With The Life Of Jesus, And Sending Abroad Its Sanctifying Pulsations Until Nothing Shall Be Common And Unclean.

Books! The Chosen Depositories Of The Thoughts, The Opinions, And The Aspirations Of Mighty Intellects; Like Wondrous Mirrors That Have Caught And Fixed Bright Images Of Souls That Have Passed Away; Like Magic Lyres, Whose Masters Have Bequeathed Them To The World, And Which Yet, Of Themselves, Ring With Unforgotten Music, While The Hands That Touched Their Chords Have Crumbled Into Dust. Books! They Are The Embodiments And Manifestations Of Departed Minds--the Living Organs Through Which Those Who Are Dead Yet Speak To Us.

Earth Has Scarcely An Acre That Does Not Remind Us Of Actions That Have Long Preceded Our Own, And Its Clustering Tombstones Loom Up Like Reefs Of The Eternal Shore, To Show Us Where So Many Human Barks Have Struck And Gone Down.

We Only Attain The True Idea Of Marriage When We Consider It As A Spiritual Union--a Union Of Immortal Affections, Of Undying Faculties, Of An Imperishable Destiny.

Life Is A Crucible. We Are Thrown Into It And Tried.