The Beautiful Souls Of The World Have

Our Duty Is To Be Useful, Not According To Our Desires But According To Our Powers.

The Unfinished Is Nothing.

The Ideal, After All, Is True Than The Real: For The Ideal Is The Eternal Element In Perishable Things.

The More A Man Loves, The More He Suffers. The Sum Of Possible Grief For Each Soul Is In Proportion To Its Degree Of Perfection.

He Who Floats With The Current, Who Does Not Guide Himself According To Higher Principles, Who Has No Ideal, No Convictions-such A Man Is . . . A Thing Moved, Instead Of A Living And Moving Being-an Echo, Not A Voice. The Man Who Has No Inner-life Is A Slave Of His Surroundings As The Barometer Is The Obedient Servant Of The Air.