The Coldest Word Was Once A Glowing

The Scandalous Bronze-lacquer Age Of Hungry Animalisms, Spiritual Impotences, And Mendacities, Will Have To Run Its Course, Till The Pit Follow It.

Woe To Him, . . . Who Has No Court Of Appeal Against The World's Judgment.

Long Stormy Spring-time, Wet Contentious April, Winter Chilling The Lap Of Very May; But At Length The Season Of Summer Does Come.

Skepticism . . . Is Not Intellectual Only It Is Moral Also, A Chronic Atrophy And Disease Of The Whole Soul.

To Reform A World, To Reform A Nation, No Wise Man Will Undertake; And All But Foolish Men Know, That The Only Solid, Though A Far Slower Reformation, Is What Each Begins And Perfects On Himself.