The Poor Man With Industry Is Happier

Theology Is But Our Ideas Of Truth Classified And Arranged.

A Library Is But The Soul's Burial Ground; It Is The Land Of Shadows. Yet One Is Impressed With The Thought, The Labor, And The Struggle, Represented In This Vast Catacomb Of Books. Who Could Dream, By The Placid Waters That Issue From The Level Mouths Of Brooks Into The Lake, All The Plunges, The Whirls, The Divisions, And Foaming Rushes That Had Brought Them Down To The Tranquil Exit? And Who Can Guess Through What Channels Of Disturbance, And Experiences Of Sorrow, The Heart Passed That Has Emptied Into This Dead Sea Of Books?

A Cunning Man Overreaches No One Half As Much As Himself.

The Religion Of Jesus Christ Is Not Ascetic, Nor Sour, Nor Gloomy, Nor Circumscribing. It Is Full Of Sweetness In The Present And In Promise.

The Babe At First Feeds Upon The Mother's Bosom, But It Is Always On Her Heart.