Our Yearnings Are Homesicknesses For Heaven; Our

All Things In The Natural World Symbolize God, Yet None Of Them Speak Of Him But In Broken And Imperfect Words.

Whenever Education And Refinement Carry Us Away From The Common People, They Are Growing Towards Selfishness, Which Is The Monster Evil Of The World. That Is True Cultivation Which Gives Us Sympathy With Every Form Of Human Life, And Enables Us To Work Most Successfully For Its Advancement. Refinement That Carries Us Away From Our Fellow People Is Not God's Refinement.

A Christianity Which Will Not Help Those Who Are Struggling From The Bottom To The Top Of Society, Needs Another Christ To Die For It.

A Library Is But The Soul's Burial Ground; It Is The Land Of Shadows. Yet One Is Impressed With The Thought, The Labor, And The Struggle, Represented In This Vast Catacomb Of Books. Who Could Dream, By The Placid Waters That Issue From The Level Mouths Of Brooks Into The Lake, All The Plunges, The Whirls, The Divisions, And Foaming Rushes That Had Brought Them Down To The Tranquil Exit? And Who Can Guess Through What Channels Of Disturbance, And Experiences Of Sorrow, The Heart Passed That Has Emptied Into This Dead Sea Of Books?

Good-nature Is One Of The Richest Fruits Of True Christianity.