This Is The Essential Evil Of Vice:

Whatever You Truly Conceive Of In The Mind, Is Possible.

Never Does The Human Soul Appear So Strong As When It Foregoes Revenge, And Dares To Forgive An Injury.

Think For A Moment Of The Great Agents And Engines Of Our Civilization, And Then Think What Shadowy Ideas They All Once Were. The Wheels Of The Steamship Turned As Swiftly As They Do Now, But As Silent And Unsubstantial As The Motions Of The Inventor's Thought; And In The Noiseless Loom Of His Meditation Were Woven The Sinews Of The Printing-press, Whose Thunder Shakes The World.

The City Reveals The Moral Ends Of Being, And Sets The Awful Problem Of Life. The Country Soothes Us, Refreshes Us, Lifts Us Up With Religious Suggestion.

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.