Just In Ratio As Knowledge Increases, Faith

The Glory Of A Workman, Still More Of A Master Workman, That He Does His Work Well, Ought To Be His Most Precious Possession; Like The Honor Of A Soldier, Dearer To Him Than Life.

In Idleness There Is A Perpetual Despair.

Narrative Is Linear, But Action Has Breadth And Depth As Well As Height And Is Solid.

We Have Our Little Theory On All Human And Divine Things. Poetry, The Workings Of Genius Itself, Which, In All Times, With One Or Another Meaning, Has Been Called Inspiration, And Held To Be Mysterious And Inscrutable, Is No Longer Without Its Scientific Exposition. The Building Of The Lofty Rhyme Is Like Any Other Masonry Or Bricklaying: We Have Theories Of Its Rise, Height, Decline And Fall -- Which Latter, It Would Seem, Is Now Near, Among All People.

There Is But One Thing Without Honor, Smitten With Eternal Barrenness, Inability To Do Or To Be,-insincerity, Unbelief.