That There Is A Secret Itself Is

The War Has Jerked Us Pretty Sharply Into Consciousness About This Slug-a-bed Sin Of Sloth, And Perhaps We Need Not Say Too Much About It. But Two Warnings Are Rather Necessary.

She Always Says, My Lord, That Facts Are Like Cows. If You Look Them In The Face Hard Enough They Generally Run Away.

Work Is Not Primarily A Thing One Does To Live But The Thing One Lives To Do. It Is, Or It Should Be, The Full Expression Of The Worker's Faculties, The Thing In Which He Finds Spiritual, Mental And Bodily Satisfaction, And The Medium In Which He Offers Himself To God.

. . . The Fellow's Got A Bee In His Bonnet. Thinks God's A Secretion Of The Liver--all Right Once In A Way, But There's No Need To Keep On About It. There's Nothing You Can't Prove If Your Outlook Is Only Sufficiently Limited.

I Know What An Act To Make Things Simpler Means. It Means That The People Who Drew It Up Don't Understand It Themselves And That Every One Of Its Clauses Needs A Law-suit To Disentangle It.