Faith Is Spiritualized Imagination.

A Man Has No More Religion Than He Acts Out In His Life.

A Noble Man Compares And Estimates Himself By An Idea Which Is Higher Than Himself, And A Mean Man, By One Lower Than Himself.

Men Will Imitate And Admire His Unmoved Firmness, His Inflexible Conscience For The Right; And Yet His Gentleness, As Tender As A Woman's, His Moderation Of Spirit, Which Not All The Heat Of Party Could Inflame, Nor All The Jars And Disturbances Of This Country Shake Out Of Its Place: I Swear You To An Emulation Of His Justice, His Moderation, And His Mercy.

A Library Is But The Soul's Burial Ground; It Is The Land Of Shadows. Yet One Is Impressed With The Thought, The Labor, And The Struggle, Represented In This Vast Catacomb Of Books. Who Could Dream, By The Placid Waters That Issue From The Level Mouths Of Brooks Into The Lake, All The Plunges, The Whirls, The Divisions, And Foaming Rushes That Had Brought Them Down To The Tranquil Exit? And Who Can Guess Through What Channels Of Disturbance, And Experiences Of Sorrow, The Heart Passed That Has Emptied Into This Dead Sea Of Books?

There Are Many Persons Of Combative Tendencies, Who Read For Ammunition, And Dig Out Of The Bible Iron For Balls. They Read, And They Find Nitre And Charcoal And Sulphur For Powder. They Read, And They Find Cannon. They Read, And They Make Portholes And Embrasures. And If A Man Does Not Believe As They Do, They Look Upon Him As An Enemy, And Let Fly The Bible At Him To Demolish Him. So Men Turn The Word Of God Into A Vast Arsenal, Filled With All Manner Of Weapons, Offensive And Defensive.