The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

I Would Not Have A Slave To Till My Ground, To Carry Me, To Fan Me While I Sleep, And Tremble When I Wake, For All The Wealth That Sinews Bought And Sold Have Ever Earn'd.

I Venerate The Man Whose Heart Is Warm, Whose Hands Are Pure, Whose Doctrine And Whose Life, Coincident, Exhibit Lucid Proof That He Is Honest In The Sacred Cause.

Mountains Interposed Make Enemies Of Nations, Who Had Else Like Kindred Drops Been Mingled Into One.

Gardening Imparts An Organic Perspective On The Passage Of Time.

Visits Are Insatiable Devourers Of Time, And Fit Only For Those Who, If They Did Not That, Would Do Nothing.