Where The Roots Of Private Virtue Are

Simplicity Should Not Be Identified With Bareness.

It May Be Impossible For A Man By Merely Willing It To Add Wings To His Body, But It Is Possible For Any Man, By Merely Willing It, To Add Wings To His Soul. This Perennial Miracle Of The Moral Nature Is Capable Of Happening At Any Time.

The Human Race May Be Compared To A Writer. At The Outset A Writer Has Often Only A Vague General Notion Of The Plan Of His Work, And Of The Thought He Intends To Elaborate. As He Proceeds, Penetrating His Material, Laboring To Express Himself Fitly, He Lays A Firmer Grasp On His Thought; He Finds Himself. So The Human Race Is Writing Its Story, Finding Itself, Discovering Its Own Underlying Purpose, Revising, Recasting A Tale Pathetic Often, Yet None The Less Sublime.

We Should Teach Our Children Nothing Which They Shall Ever Need To Unlearn; We Should Strive To Transmit To Them The Best Possessions, The Truest Thought, The Noblest Sentiments Of The Age In Which We Live.

People May Be Said To Resemble Not The Bricks Of Which A House Is Built, But The Pieces Of A Picture Puzzle, Each Differing In Shape, But Matching The Rest, And Thus Bringing Out The Picture.