The Bulk Of The World's Knowledge Is

The Hands Of Those I Meet Are Dumbly Eloquent To Me. The Touch Of Some Hands Is An Impertinence. I Have Met People So Empty Of Joy, That When I Clasped Their Frosty Finger-tips, It Seemed As If I Were Shaking Hands With A Northeast Storm. Others There Are Whose Hands Have Sunbeams In Them, So That Their Grasp Warms My Heart. It May Be Only The Clinging Touch Of A Child's Hand; But There Is As Much Potential Sunshine In It For Me As There Is In A Loving Glance For Others. A Hearty Handshake Or A Friendly Letter Gives Me Genuine Pleasure.

The Only Moral Virtue Of War Is That It Compels The Capitalist System To Look Itself In The Face And Admit It Is A Fraud. It Compels The Present Society To Admit That It Has No Morals It Will Not Sacrifice For Gain.

Everything Has Its Wonders, Even Darkness And Silence, And I Learn, Whatever State I May Be In, Therein To Be Content.

Instead Of Being Satisfied To Alleviate Suffering, We Shall Labor Hard And Continually To Prevent It.

When All You Can Feel Are The Shadows, Turn Your Face Towards The Sun.