Humanity Is So Constituted That The Basest

The Loss Of Fortune To A True Man Is But The Trumpet Challenge To Renewed Exertion, Not The Thunder Stroke Of Destruction.

It Is The Penalty Of Fame That A Man Must Ever Keep Rising. "get A Reputation, And Then Go To Bed," Is The Absurdest Of All Maxims. "keep Up A Reputation Or Go To Bed, "would Be Nearer The Truth.

The Minister Should Preach As If He Felt That Although The Congregation Own The Church, And Have Bought The Pews, They Have Not Bought Him. His Soul Is Worth No More Than Any Other Man's, But It Is All He Has, And He Cannot Be Expected To Sell It For A Salary. The Terms Are By No Means Equal. If A Parishioner Does Not Like The Preaching, He Can Go Elsewhere And Get Another Pew, But The Preacher Cannot Get Another Soul.

Genius Is The Accumulated Wealth Of Our Humanity--its Most Intense Development Concentrated At One Point, And Then With Clearer Expression And With Mysterious Power Shot Back To Us Across The Galvanic Lines Of Thought And Feeling.

It Is The Veiled Angel Of Sorrow Who Plucks Away One Thing And Another That Bound Us Here In Ease And Security, And, In The Vanishing Of These Dear Objects, Indicates The True Home Of Our Affections And Our Peace.