Truth Is The Root, But Human Sympathy

The Child's Grief Throbs Against The Round Of Its Little Heart As Heavily As The Man's Sorrow, And The One Finds As Much Delight In His Kite Or Drum As The Other In Striking The Springs Of Enterprise Or Soaring On The Wings Of Fame.

I Should Not Like To Preach To A Congregation Who All Believed As I Believe. I Would As Lief Preach To A Basket Of Eggs In Their Smooth Compactness And Oval Formality.

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

To Me There Is Something Thrilling And Exalting In The Thought That We Are Drifting Forward Into A Splendid Mystery-into Something That No Mortal Eye Hath Yet Seen, And No Intelligence Has Yet Declared.

Some Souls Are Ennobled And Elevated By Seeming Misfortunes, Which Then Become Blessings In Disguise.