Whatever's Lost, It First Was Won.

Many A Fervid Man Writes Books As Cold And Flat As Graveyard Stones.

Tis Aye A Solemn Thing To Me To Look Upon A Babe That Sleeps-- Wearing In Its Spirit-deeps The Unrevealed Mystery Of Its Adam's Taint And Woe, Which, When They Revealed Lie, Will Not Let It Slumber So.

Experience, Like A Pale Musician, Holds A Dulcimer Of Patience In His Hand.

Souls Are Gregarious In A Sense, But No Soul Touches Another, As A General Rule.

Free Men Freely Work: Whoever Fears God, Fears To Sit At Ease.