A Dull Ax Never Loves Grindstones.

No Man Is Such A Conqueror, As The One That Has Defeated Himself.

The Moment An Ill Can Be Patiently Handled, It Is Disarmed Of Its Poison, Though Not Of Its Pain.

In This World, Full Often, Our Joys Are Only The Tender Shadows Which Our Sorrows Cast.

There Is No Part Of Government Which Cannot Better Suffer Derangement Than The Ballot. If You Strike The Ballot With Disease, It Is Heart Disease.

Not Thine The Sorrow, But Ours, Sainted Soul! Thou Hast Indeed Entered Into The Promised Land, While We Are Yet On The March. To Us Remain The Rocking Of The Deep, The Storm Upon The Land, Days Of Duty And Nights Of Watching; But Thou Are Sphered High Above All Darkness And Fear, Beyond All Sorrow And Weariness. Rest, Oh, Weary Heart!