For I Have Been A Man, And

It Is In Self-limitation That A Master First Shows Himself.

Every Day We Should Hear At Least One Little Song, Read One Good Poem, See One Exquisite Picture, And, If Possible, Speak A Few Sensible Words.

Our Destiny Often Looks Like A Fruit-tree In Winter. Who Would Think From Its Pitiable Aspect That Those Rigid Boughs, Those Rough Twigs Could Next Spring Again Be Green, Bloom, And Even Bear Fruit? Yet We Hope It, We Know It.

Time Is A Strange Thing. It Is A Whimsical Tyrant, Which In Every Century Has A Different Face For All That One Says And Does.

Man Supposes That He Directs His Life And Governs His Actions, When His Existence Is Irretrievably Under The Control Of Destiny