Life Is A Crucible. We Are Thrown

The Golden Age Is Not In The Past, But In The Future; Not In The Origin Of Human Experience, But In Its Consummate Flower; Not Opening In Eden, But Out From Gethsemane.

Whatever You Truly Conceive Of In The Mind, Is Possible.

The Brightest Crowns That Are Worn In Heaven Have Been Tried, And Smelted, And Polished And Glorified Through The Furnaces Of Tribulation.

It Is Those Who Make The Least Display Of Their Sorrow Who Mourn The Deepest.

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.