All Theory, My Friend, Is Grey, But

A Great Revolution Is Never The Fault Of The People, But Of The Government.

Assuredly There Is No More Lovely Worship Of God Than That For Which No Image Is Required, But Which Springs Up In Our Breast Spontaneously When Nature Speaks To The Soul, And The Soul Speaks To Nature Face To Face.

Faith Is A Homely, Private Capital; As There Are Public Savings-banks And Poor Funds, Out Of Which In Times Of Want We Can Relieve The Necessities Of Individuals, So Here The Faithful Take Their Coin In Peace.

From Inaccessible Mountain Range By Way Of Desert Untrod By Human Foot To The Ends Of The Unknown Seas, The Breath Of The Everlasting Creative Spirit Is Felt, Rejoicing Over Every Speck Of Dust That Hearkens To It And Lives.

Thought Expands, But Paralyzes; Action Animates, But Narrows.