The One Great Poem Of New England

Fear Secretes Acids; But Love And Trust Are Sweet Juices.

I Don't Like These Cold, Precise, Perfect People, Who, In Order Not To Speak Wrong, Never Speak At All, And In Order Not To Do Wrong, Never Do Anything.

I Think Half The Troubles For Which Men Go Slouching In Prayer To God Are Caused By Their Intolerable Pride. Many Of Our Cares Are But A Morbid Way Of Looking At Our Privileges. We Let Our Blessings Get Mouldy, And Then Call Them Curses.

Affliction Comes To Us All ...not To Impoverish, But To Enrich Us, As The Plough Enriches The Field; To Multiply Our Joy, As The Seed, By Planting, Is Multiplied A Thousand-fold.

There Never Was A Liar That Had Not A Spot In Him Where He Could Not Help Admiring Truth.