There Is No More Certain Sign Of

Truth Is A Point, The Subtlest And Finest; Harder Than Adamant; Never To Be Broken, Worn Away, Or Blunted. Its Only Bad Quality Is, That It Is Sure To Hurt Those Who Touch It; And Likely To Draw Blood, Perhaps The Life Blood, Of Those Who Press Earnestly Upon It.

We Talk On Principal, But Act On Motivation.

How Sweet And Sacred Idleness Is!

Such Is Our Impatience, Such Our Hatred Of Procrastination, To Everything But The Amendment Of Our Practices And The Adornment Of Our Nature, One Would Imagine We Were Dragging Time Along By Force, And Not He Us.

The Most Pernicious Of Absurdities Is That Weak, Blind, Stupid Faith Is Better Than The Constant Practice Of Every Human Virtue.