The World Is God's Workshop For Making

A Man That Does Not Know How To Be Angry Does Not Know How To Be Good.

Words Are But The Bannerets Of A Great Army, A Few Bits Of Waving Color Here And There; Thoughts Are The Main Body Of The Footman That March Unseen Below.

In Regard To The Great Mass Of Men, Anything That Breaks The Realm Of Fear Is Not Salutary, But Dangerous; Because It Takes Off One Of The Hoops That Hold The Barrel Together In Which The Evil Spirits Are Confined.

The Cynic Is One Who Never Sees A Good Quality In A Man, And Never Fails To See A Bad One. He Is The Human Owl, Vigilant In Darkness And Blind To Light, Mousing For Vermin, And Never Seeing Noble Game.

The Slave Labors, But With No Cheer - It Is Not The Road To Respectability, It Will Honor Him With No Citizens' Trust, It Brings No Bread To His Family, No Grain To His Garner, No Leisure In After-days, No Books Or Papers To His Children. It Opens No School-house Door, Builds No Church, Rears For Him No Factory, Lays No Keel, Fills No Bank, Earns No Acres. With Sweat And Toil And Ignorance He Consumes His Life, To Pour The Earnings Into Channels From Which He Does No Drink, Into Hands That Never Honor Him. But Perpetually Rob And Often Torment.