There Is No Liberty To Men Who

Death Is The Dropping Of The Flower, That The Fruit May Swell.

What Profusion Is There In His Work! When Trees Blossom There Is Not A Single Breastpin, But A Whole Bosom Full Of Gems; And Of Leaves They Have So Many Suits That They Can Throw Them Away To The Winds All Summer Long. What Unnumbered Cathedrals Has He Reared In The Forest Shades, Vast And Grand, Full Of Curious Carvings, And Haunted Evermore By Tremulous Music; And In The Heavens Above, How Do Stars Seem To Have Flown Out Of His Hand Faster Than Sparks Out Of A Mighty Forge!

A Man Who Does Not Know How To Be Angry, Does Not Know How To Be Good. Now And Then A Man Should Be Shaken To The Core With Indignation Over Things Evil.

A Noble Man Compares And Estimates Himself By An Idea Which Is Higher Than Himself, And A Mean Man, By One Lower Than Himself.

Compassion Will Cure More Sins Than Condemnation.