What Sort Of Faults May We Retain,

Individuality Of Expression Is The Beginning And End Of All Art.

Woe To Him Who Would Ascribe Something Like Reason To Chance, And Make A Religion Of Surrendering To It.

He Who Possesses Science And Art, Possesses Religion As Well; He Who Possesses Neither Of These, Had Better Have Religion.

How Circumscribed Is Woman's Destiny!

Sometimes Our Fate Resembles A Fruit Tree In Winter. Who Would Think That Those Branches Would Turn Green Again And Blossom, But We Hope It, We Know It.