May We Be Satisfied With Nothing That

It Is A Higher Exhibition Of Christian Manliness To Be Able To Bear Trouble Than To Get Rid Of It.

A Man Ought To Carry Himself In The World As An Orange Tree Would If It Could Walk Up And Down In The Garden, Swinging Perfume From Every Little Censer It Holds Up In The Air.

I Know It Is More Agreeable To Walk Upon Carpets Than To Lie Upon Dungeon Floors, I Know It Is Pleasant To Have All The Comforts And Luxuries Of Civilization; But He Who Cares Only For These Things Is Worth No More Than A Butterfly, Contented And Thoughtless, Upon A Morning Flower; And Who Ever Thought Of Rearing A Tombstone To A Last Summer's Butterfly?

The Methods By Which Men Have Met And Conquered Trouble, Or Been Slain By It, Are The Same In Every Age.

We Are But A Point, A Single Comma, And God Is The Literature Of Eternity.