Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The

What A Father Says To His Children Is Not Heard By The World, But It Will Be Heard By Posterity.

Sorrows Are Like Thunderclouds, In The Distance They Look Black, Over Our Heads Scarcely Gray.

The Purer The Golden Vessel, The More Readily Is It Bent; The Higher Worth Of Woman Is Sooner Lost Than That Of Man.

Without God There Is For Mankind No Purpose, No Goal, No Hope, Only A Wavering Future, An Eternal Dread Of Every Darkness.

A Woman Who Could Always Love Would Never Grow Old; And The Love Of Mother And Wife Would Often Give Or Preserve Many Charms If It Were Not Too Often Combined With Parental And Conjugal Anger. There Remains In The Face Of Women Who Are Naturally Serene And Peaceful, And Of Those Rendered So By Religion, An After-spring, And Later An After-summer, The Reflex Of Their Most Beautiful Bloom.