No Man Can Instruct More Than Half-a-dozen

You Say That Love Is Nonsense. I Tell You It Is No Such Thing. For Weeks And Months It Is A Steady Physical Pain, An Ache About The Heart, Never Leaving One, By Night Or By Day; A Long Strain On One's Nerves Like Toothache Or Rheumatism, Not Intolerable At Any One Instant, But Exhausting By Its Steady Drain On The Strength.

If I Grapple With Sin In My Own Strength, The Devil Knows He May Go To Sleep.

We Shall Some Day Catch An Abstract Truth By The Tail, And Then We Shall Have Our Religion And Our Immortality.

Intimates Are Predestined.

They Know Enough Who Know How To Learn.