It Is Not The Bee's Touching On

I Account This Body Nothing But A Close Prison To My Soul; And The Earth A Larger Prison To My Body. I May Not Break Prison Till I Be Loosed By Death; But I Will Leave It, Not Unwillingly,when I Am Loosed.

Society Is The Atmosphere Of Souls; And We Necessarily Imbibe From It Something Which Is Either Infectious Or Healthful.

A Man's Opinion Is In Others; His Being Is In Himself.

Death Did Not First Strike Adam, The First Sinful Man, Nor Cain, The First Hypocrite, But Abel, The Innocent And Righteous. The First Soul That Met With Death, Overcame Death; The First Soul That Parted From Earth Went To Heaven. Death Argues Not Displeasure, Because He Whom God Loved Best Dies First, And The Murderer Is Punished With Living.

Garments That Have Once One Rent In Them Are Subject To Be Torn On Every Nail, And Glasses That Are Once Cracked Are Soon Broken; Such Is Man's Good Name Once Tainted With Just Reproach.