Every Disease Is A Musical Problem; Every

Where Children Are, There Is The Golden Age.

One Should, When Overwhelmed By The Shadow Of A Giant, Move Aside And See If The Colossal Shadow Isn't Merely That Of A Pygmy Blocking Out The Sun.

It Is Not Merely The Multiplicity Of Tints, The Gladness Of Tone, Or The Balminess Of The Air Which Delight In The Spring; It Is The Still Consecrated Spirit Of Hope, The Prophecy Of Happy Days Yet To Come; The Endless Variety Of Nature, With Presentiments Of Eternal Flowers Which Never Shall Fade, And Sympathy With The Blessedness Of The Ever-developing World.

Our Bodies Are Molded Rivers.

We Touch Heaven When We Lay Our Hand On A Human Body!