How Dismal Is Progress Without Publicity.

A Real Flame Of Love Is A Subtle Thing. It Burns As A Will-o'-the-wisp, Dancing Onward To Fairy Lands Of Delight. It Roars As A Furnace. Too Often Jealousy Is The Quality Upon Which It Feeds.

Assure A Man That He Has A Soul And Then Frighten Him With Old Wives' Tales As To What Is To Become Of Him Afterward, And You Have Hooked A Fish, A Mental Slave.

I Have Seen Youths Bright Eyed And Fair Groping After Bubbles In Rapture, And Conceiving Them Diamonds And The Glitter Of Fine Jewels, Until Their Hand Closed Over A Something That Was Not To Be Felt Nor Longer Seen, Mere Colored Air.

Morality And Ethics Are Nothing But Footballs, Wherewith People, Strong People Play To Win Points.

Nature, Machine-like, Works Definitely And Heartlessly, If In The Main Beautifully. Hence, If We, As Individuals, Do Not Make This Dream Of A God Or What He Stands For Us Real In Our Thoughts And Deeds, Then He Is Not Real Or True.