Life's No Brief Candle-it's A Splendid Torch!

But A Mother Is Like A Broomstick Or Like The Sun In The Heavens, It Does Not Matter Which As Far As One's Knowledge Of Her Is Concerned: The Broomstick Is There And The Sun Is There; And Whether The Child Is Beaten By It Or Warmed And Enlightened By It, It Accepts It As A Fact In Nature, And Does Not Conceive It As Having Had Youth, Passions, And Weaknesses, Or As Still Growing, Yearning, Suffering, And Learning.

The Nation's Morals Are Like Its Teeth: The More Decayed They Are The More It Hurts To Touch Them.

Without Music We Shall Surely Perish Of Drink, Morphia, And All Sorts Of Artificial Exaggerations Of The Cruder Delights Of The Senses.

Dogmatic Toleration Is Nonsense: I Would No More Tolerate The Teaching Of Calvinism To Children If I Had Power To Persecute It Than The British Raj Tolerated Suttee In India. Every Civilized Authority Must Draw A Line Between The Tolerable And The Intolerable.

From A Very Early Age, I've Had To Interrupt My Education To Go To School.