It Is A Hard, Embittering Thing To

My Soul Is Awakened, My Spirit Is Soaring And Carried Aloft On The Wings Of The Breeze.

A Little Girl Loves Her Bird--why? Because It Lives And Feels; Because It Is Helpless And Harmless? A Toad, Likewise, Lives And Feels, And Is Equally Helpless And Harmless; But Though She Would Not Hurt A Toad, She Cannot Love It Like The Bird, With Its Graceful Form, Soft Feathers, And Bright, Speaking Eyes.

I Cannot Get Him To Write Or Speak In Real, Solid Earnest. I Don't Much Mind It Now, But If It Be Always So, What Shall I Do With The Serious Part Of Myself?

[preface To Second Edition:] ... I Am Satisfied That If A Book Is A Good One, It Is So Whatever The Sex Of The Author May Be.

If I Hate The Sins, I Love The Sinner, And Would Do Much For His Salvation