The Most Dangerous People Are The Ignorant.

Let The Grateful Heart Sweep Through The Day That It May Recognize In Every Hour Some Sweet Blessing.

There Is Always Work, And Tools To Work Withal, For Those, Who Will.

All Words Are Pegs To Hang Ideas On.

Our Yearnings Are Homesicknesses For Heaven; Our Sighings Are For God, Just As Children That Cry Themselves Asleep Away From Home, And Sob In Their Slumber, Know Not That They Sob For Their Parents. The Soul's Inarticulate Moanings Are The Affections Yearning For The Infinite, And Having No One To Tell Them What It Is That Ails Them.

The Continuance And Frequent Fits Of Anger Produce In The Soul A Propensity To Be Angry; Which Oftentimes Ends In Choler, Bitterness, And Moronity, When The Mid Becomes Ulcerated, Peevish, And Querulous, And Is Wounded By The Least Occurrence.