This Is The Essential Evil Of Vice:

Do Not Judge From Mere Appearances.

Death, Is Not An End, But A Transition Crisis. All The Forms Of Decay Are But Masks Of Regeneration--the Secret Alembics Of Vitality.

It Is Not Death To Have The Body Called Back To The Earth, And Dissolved Into Its Kindred Elements, And Mouldered To Dust, And, It May Be, Turn To Daisies, In The Grave. But It Is Death To Have The Soul Paralyzed, Its Inner Life Quenched, Its Faculties Dissipated; That Is Death.

The Creed Of A True Saint Is To Make The Best Of Life, And To Make The Most Of It.

Labor, With Its Coarse Raiment And Its Bare Right Arm, Has Gone Forth In The Earth, Achieving The Truest Conquests And Rearing The Most Durable Monuments. It Has Opened The Domain Of Matter And The Empire Of The Mind. The Wild Beast Has Fled Before It, And The Wilderness Has Fallen Back.... Its Triumphal March Is The Progress Of Civilization.