A Man Who Does Not Love Praise

Love Is The River Of Life In This World. Think Not That Ye Know It Who Stand At The Little Tinkling Rill, The First Small Fountain. Not Until You Have Gone Through The Rocky Gorges, And Not Lost The Stream; Not Until You Nave Gone Through The Meadow, And The Stream Has Widened And Deepened Until Fleets Could Ride On Its Bosom; Not Until Beyond The Meadow You Have Come To The Unfathomable Ocean, And Poured Your Treasures Into Its Depths--not Until Then Can You Know What Love Is.

Genius Is A Steed Too Fiery For The Plow Or The Cart.

Coming To The Bible Through Commentaries Is Much Like Looking At A Landscape Through Garret Windows, Over Which Generations Of Unmolested Spiders Have Spun Their Webs.

What Is The Bible In Your House? It Is Not The Old Testament, It Is Not The New Testament, It Is Not The Gospel According To Matthew, Or Mark, Or Luke, Or John; It Is The Gospel According To William; It Is The Gospel According To Mary; It Is The Gospel According To Henry And James; It Is The Gospel According To Your Name. You Write Your Own Bible.

Unfruitful Emotion Is To Be Suspected. Feeling Acts As An Impulse, As A Spur, As A Spring, And When Feelings Are Excited, And They Put Nothing Forward, They Are Sometimes Even Dangerous To A Man.