The Tired Ox Treads With A Firmer

The Church Of Christ Has Been Founded By Shedding Its Own Blood, Not That Of Others; By Enduring Outrage, Not By Inflicting It. Persecutions Have Made It Grow; Martyrdoms Have Crowned It.

Woman Is The Gate Of The Devil, The Road To Iniquity, The Sting Of The Scorpion, In A Word, A Dangerous Species.

Shun, As You Would The Plague, A Cleric Who From Being Poor Has Become Wealthy, Or Who, From Being Nobody Has Become A Celebrity.

It Is Easier To Mend Neglect Than To Quicken Love.

It Is Our Part To Seek, His To Grant What We Ask; Ours To Make A Beginning, His To Bring It To Completion; Ours To Offer What We Can, His To Finish What We Cannot.