“i Can Forgive, But I Cannot Forget,”

Every Green Thing Loves To Die In Bright Colors. The Vegetable Cohorts March Glowing Out Of The Year In Flaming Dresses, As If To Leave This Earth Were A Triumph And Not A Sadness. It Is Never Nature That Is Sad, But Only We, That Dare Not Look Back On The Past, And That Have Not Its Prophecy Of The Future In Our Bosoms.

Hope Is Sweet-minded And Sweet-eyed. It Draws Pictures; It Weaves Fancies; It Fills The Future With Delight.

Children Are The Hands By Which We Take Hold Of Heaven. By These Tendrils We Clasp It And Climb Thitherward. And Why Do We Think That We Are Separated From Them? We Never Half Knew Them, Nor In This World Could.

There Is No Part Of Government Which Cannot Better Suffer Derangement Than The Ballot. If You Strike The Ballot With Disease, It Is Heart Disease.

If We Are Like Christ, We Shall Seek, Not To Absorb, But To Reflect The Light Which Falls Upon Others, And Thus We Shall Become Pure And Spotless.