Meekness Is The Mask Of Malice.

I Would Not For My Life Destroy One Star Of Human Hope, But I Want It So That When A Poor Woman Rocks The Cradle And Sings A Lullaby To The Dimpled Darling, She Will Not Be Compelled To Believe That Ninety-nine Chances In A Hundred She Is Raising Kindling Wood For Hell.

The Greatest Superstition Now Entertained By Public Men Is That Hypocrisy Is The Royal Road To Success.

I Found That The Clergy Did Not Understand Their Own Book.

Blasphemy Is An Epithet Bestowed By Superstition Upon Common Sense.

In The Night Of Death, Hope Sees A Star, And Listening Love Can Hear The Rustle Of A Wing.