We Let Our Blessings Get Mouldy, And

It Gives One A Sudden Start In Going Down A Barren, Stoney Street, To See Upon A Narrow Strip Of Grass, Just Within The Iron Fence, The Radiant Dandelion, Shining In The Grass, Like A Spark Dropped From The Sun.

That Which Men Suppose The Imagination To Be, And To Do, Is Often Frivolous Enough And Mischievous Enough; But That Which God Meant It To Be In The Mental Economy Is Not Merely Noble, But Supereminent. It Is The Distinguishing Element In All Refinement. It Is The Secret And Marrow Of Civilization. It Is The Very Eye Of Faith. The Soul Without Imagination Is What An Observatory Would Be Without A Telescope.

Going Out Into Life--that Is Dying. Christ Is The Door Out Of Life.

Christians Should Be Like A Flower Store: The Odor Of Sanctity Should Betray Them Wherever They Are.

God Does Not Refuse To Make Himself Known To Man. He Only Will Not Do It By The Symbolism Of Matter. He Comes To Us At Once By The Most Natural Course. We Are In A Transient State; Our Bodies Are Accidental, And God Comes To Us By That Which Is Higher And Truer--the Intuitions Of The Soul.