There Is Always Work, And Tools To

Undoubtedly We Render Our Consciences Callous By Evil Indulgences; But We Cannot Entirely Subdue That Still, Small Voice.

Rain! Whose Soft Architectural Hands Have Power To Cut Stones, And Chisel To Shapes Of Grandeur The Very Mountains.

Greatness Lies, Not In Being Strong, But In The Right Using Of Strength; And Strength Is Not Used Rightly When It Serves Only To Carry A Man Above His Fellows For His Own Solitary Glory. He Is The Greatest Whose Strength Carries Up The Most Hearts By The Attraction Of His Own.

A Grindstone That Had Not Grit In It, How Long Would It Take To Sharpen An Ax? And Affairs That Had Not Grit In Them, How Long Would They Take To Make A Man?

It Is Not Work That Kills Men; It Is Worry. Work Is Healthy; You Can Hard Put More Upon A Man Than He Can Bear. Worry Is Rust Upon The Blade. It Is Not The Revolution That Destroys The Machinery, But The Friction.