Well-married, A Man Is Winged: Ill-matched, He

Every Green Thing Loves To Die In Bright Colors. The Vegetable Cohorts March Glowing Out Of The Year In Flaming Dresses, As If To Leave This Earth Were A Triumph And Not A Sadness. It Is Never Nature That Is Sad, But Only We, That Dare Not Look Back On The Past, And That Have Not Its Prophecy Of The Future In Our Bosoms.

I Never Know How To Worship Until I Know How To Love.

Love Is The River Of Life In This World. Think Not That Ye Know It Who Stand At The Little Tinkling Rill, The First Small Fountain. Not Until You Have Gone Through The Rocky Gorges, And Not Lost The Stream; Not Until You Nave Gone Through The Meadow, And The Stream Has Widened And Deepened Until Fleets Could Ride On Its Bosom; Not Until Beyond The Meadow You Have Come To The Unfathomable Ocean, And Poured Your Treasures Into Its Depths--not Until Then Can You Know What Love Is.

Young Love Is A Flame; Very Pretty, Often Very Hot And Fierce, But Still Only Light And Flickering. The Love Of The Older And Disciplined Heart Is As Coals, Deep-burning, Unquenchable.

The Highest Order That Was Ever Instituted On Earth Is The Order Of Faith.