The Beginning Is The Promise Of The

To Array A Man's Will Against His Sickness Is The Supreme Art Of Medicine.

Many People Are Afraid To Embrace Religion, For Fear They Shall Not Succeed In Maintaining It.

Fear Is The Soul's Signal For Rallying.

Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To Bathe In It. Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety,--all This Rust Of Life, Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. It Is Better Than Emery. Every Man Ought To Rub Himself With It. A Man Without Mirth Is Like A Wagon Without Springs, In Which One Is Caused Disagreeably To Jolt By Every Pebble Over Which It Runs.

Wealth Held By A Class And Used Ambitiously Becomes As Despotic As An Absolute Monarchy, And Has In Its Hands Manners, Customs, Laws, Institutions, And Governments Themselves.