And Gain Is Gain, However Small.

I Count Life Just A Stuff To Try The Soul's Strength On.

I Know A Mount, The Gracious Sun Perceives First When He Visits, Last, Too, When He Leaves The World; And, Vainly Favored, It Repays The Day-long Glory Of His Steadfast Gaze By No Change Of Its Large Calm Front Of Snow.

Mothers, Wives And Maids, These Be The Tools With Which Priests Manage Men.

There Are Those Who Believe Something, And Therefore Will Tolerate Nothing; And On The Other Hand, Those Who Tolerate Everything, Because They Believe Nothing.

They Are Perfect; How Else?-they Shall Never Change: We Are Faulty; Why Not?-we Have Time In Store.