A Dull Ax Never Loves Grindstones.

There Is A Dew In One Flower And Not In Another, Because One Opens In Cup And Takes It In, While The Other Closes Itself, And The Drops Run Off. God Rains His Goodness And Mercy As Widespread As The Dew, And If We Lack Them, It Is Because We Will Not Open Our Hearts To Receive Them.

The Bibliophile Is The Master Of His Books, The Bibliomaniac Their Slave.

Now, Men Think, With Regard To Their Conduct, That, If They Were To Lift Themselves Up Gigantically And Commit Some Crashing Sin, They Should Never Be Able To Hold Up Their Heads; But They Will Harbor In Their Souls Little Sins, Which Are Piercing And Eating Them Away To Inevitable Ruin.

We Are Never Ripe Till We Have Been Made So By Suffering.

What Place Is So Rugged And So Homely That There Is No Beauty; If You Only Have A Sensibility To Beauty?