Surely The Stars Are Images Of Love.

And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But Skin Deep.

True Faith Nor Biddeth Nor Abideth Form, The Bended Knee, The Eye Uplift; Is All Which Men Need Render; All Which God Can Bear. What To The Faith Are Forms? A Passing Speck, A Crow Upon The Sky.

Fine Thoughts Are Wealth, For The Right Use Of Which Men Are And Ought To Be Accountable,-- If Not To Thee, To Those They Influence.

Application Is The Price To Be Paid For Mental Acquisition. To Have The Harvest, We Must Sow The Seed.

Envy's A Coal Comes Hissing Hot From Hell.