Satire Is An Abuse Of Wit. It

Out Of Politics Comes More Uproar Than Progress. It Is Indeed Surprising How Little, Comparatively, This Noisy Department Of Human Affairs Contributes To The World's Prosperity. Political Commotions Upon The Grandest Scale, Political Events Of Astounding Suddenness, Political Characters Of The Greatest Ability, Abound, But Still, Permanent Results Are Rare, And We Look In Vain For A Measure Of Public Good Corresponding In Extent To The Hideous Rout Which Ushers It In. Progress But Turns Upon Its Pillow, And Goes To Sleep Again.

I Once Asked A Distinguished Artist What Place He Gave To Labor In Art. "labor," He In Effect Said, "is The Beginning, The Middle, And The End Of Art." Turning Then To Another--"and You," I Inquired, "what Do You Consider As The Great Force In Art?" "love," He Replied. In Their Two Answers I Found But One Truth.

It Is Ever The Invisible That Is The Object Of Our Profoundest Worship. With The Lover It Is Not The Seen But The Unseen That He Muses Upon.

We May Learn From Children How Large A Part Of Our Grievances Is Imaginary. But The Pain Is Just As Real.

Can That Which Is The Greatest Virtue In Philosophy, Doubt (called By Galileo The Father Of Invention), Be In Religion What The Priests Term It, The Greatest Of Sins?