A Man Never Has Good Luck Who

I Have Known Many An Instance Of A Man Writing A Letter And Forgetting To Sign His Name, But This Is The Only Instance I Have Ever Known Of A Man Signing His Name And Forgetting To Write The Letter.

In The Sacred Precinct Of That Dwelling Where The Despotic Woman Wields The Sceptre Of Fierce Neatness, One Treads As If He Carried His Life In His Hands.

Like The Cellar-growing Vine Is The Christian Who Lives In The Darkness And Bondage Of Fear. But Let Him Go Forth, With The Liberty Of God, Into The Light Of Love, And He Will Be Like The Plant In The Field, Healthy, Robust, And Joyful.

Sink The Bible To The Bottom Of The Ocean, And Man's Obligations To God Would Be Unchanged. He Would Have The Same Path To Tread, Only His Lamp And His Guide Would Be Gone; He Would Have The Same Voyage To Make, But His Chart And Compass Would Be Overboard!

People Of Too Much Sentiment Are Like Fountains, Whose Overflow Keeps A Disagreeable Puddle About Them.