It Is One Of The Misfortunes In

As Is The Inventor Of Murder, And The Father Of Art, Cain Must Have Been A Man Of First-rate Genius.

Flowers That Are So Pathetic In Their Beauty, Frail As The Clouds, And In Their Coloring As Gorgeous As The Heavens, Had Through Thousands Of Years Been The Heritage Of Children - Honored As The Jewelry Of God.

I Feel That There Is No Such Thing As Ultimate Forgetting; Traces Once Impressed Upon The Memory Are Indestructible.

It Is An Impressive Truth That Sometimes In The Very Lowest Forms Of Duty, Less Than Which Would Rank A Man As A Villain, There Is, Nevertheless The Sublimest Ascent Of Self-sacrifice. To Do Less Would Class You As An Object Of Eternal Scorn, To Do So Much Presumes The Grandeur Of Heroism.

It Was A Sunday Afternoon, Wet And Cheerless; And A Duller Spectacle This Earth Of Ours Has Not To Show Than A Rainy Sunday In London.