We Ought To Be Ten Times As

If You Are Idle, You Are On The Road To Ruin; And There Are Few Stopping-places Upon It. It Is Rather A Precipice Than A Road

In This World It Is Not What We Take Up, But What We Give Up, That Makes Us Rich.

There Is So Much That Is Deaf And Dumb In Man, And So Much That Is Paralyzed, So Much That Is Shrunken, That Nothing Short Of A Miraculous Touch Of Re-creation Can Make Them At Death Perfect Beings.

It Is The End Of Art To Inoculate Men With The Love Of Nature. But Those Who Have A Psssion For Nature In The Natural Way, Need No Pictures Nor Gallereies. Spring Is Their Designer, And The Whole Year Their Artist.

All Our Other Faculties Seem To Have The Brown Touch Of Earth Upon Them, But The Imagination Carries The Very Livery Of Heaven, And Is God's Self In The Soul.