A Woman's Pity Often Opens The Door

The Word Of God Tends To Make Large-minded Noble-minded Men.

The Pen Is The Tongue Of The Hand; A Silent Utterer Of Words For The Eye.

In The Morning, We Carry The World Like Atlas; At Noon, We Stoop And Bend Beneath It; And At Night, It Crushes Us Flat To The Ground.

Our Best Successes Often Come After Our Greatest Disappointments.

What If The Leaves Were To Fall A-weeping, And Say, "it Will Be So Painful For Us To Be Pulled From Our Stalks, When Autumn Comes?" Foolish Fear! Summer Goes, And Autumn Succeeds. The Glory Of Death Is Upon The Leaves; And The Gentlest Breeze That Blows Takes Them Softly And Silently From The Bough, And They Float Slowly Down, Like Fiery Sparks, Upon The Moss.