The God Of The Puritans...was A Monster

It Is The Life Of The Crystal, The Architect Of The Flake, The Fire Of The Frost, The Soul Of The Sunbeam. This Crisp Winter Air Is Full Of It.

That Which Distinguishes This Day From All Others Is That Then Both Orators And Artillerymen Shoot Blank Cartridges.

Nothing Relieves And Ventilates The Mind Like A Resolution.

For Anything Worth Having One Must Pay The Price; And The Price Is Always Work, Patience, Love, Self-sacrifice - No Paper Currency, No Promises To Pay, But The Gold Of Real Service.

Before The Bud Swells, Before The Grass Springs, Before The Plough Is Started, Comes The Sugar Harvest. It Is Sequel Of The Bitter Frost; A Sap Run Is The Sweet Goodbye Of Winter.