Man Is Made Of Ordinary Things, And

While The Womanly God Demands Our Veneration, The Godlike Woman Kindles Our Love; But While We Allow Ourselves To Melt In The Celestial Loveliness, The Celestial Self-sufficiency Holds Us Back In Awe.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

In A Narrow Circle The Mind Contracts. Man Grows With His Expanded Needs.

What The Inner Voice Says Will Not Disappoint The Hoping Soul.

A Virtuous Name Is The Precious Only Good, For Which Queens And Peasants' Wives Must Contest Together.