To Kill Time Is Not Murder, It's

To Some Of Us The Thought Of God Is Like A Sort Of Quiet Music Playing In The Background Of The Mind.

Every Way Of Classifying A Thing Is But A Way Of Handling It For Some Particular Purpose.

Nature In Her Unfathomable Designs Had Mixed Us Of Clay And Flame, Of Brain And Mind, That The Two Things Hang Indubitably Together And Determine Each Other's Being But How Or Why, No Mortal May Ever Know.

All Our Life, So Far As It Has Definite Form, Is But A Mass Of Habits.

Only Necessity Understood, And Bondage To The Highest Is Identical With True Freedom.