All That I Am My Mother Made

To Believe That Everyone Is Honest Is Folly, But To Believe That No One Is Honest Is Worse.

Man Wants But Little Here Below Nor Wants That Little Long, 'tis Not With Me Exactly So; But 'tis So In The Song. My Wants Are Many, And, If Told, Would Muster Many A Score; And Were Each Wish A Mint Of Gold, I Still Should Long For More.

Slavery Is The Great And Foul Stain Upon The North American Union.

Religious Discord Has Lost Her Sting; The Cumbrous Weapons Of Theological Warfare Are Antiquated: The Field Of Politics Supplies The Alchymists Of Our Times With Materials Of More Fatal Explosion, And The Butchers Of Mankind No Longer Travel To Another World For Instruments Of Cruelty And Destruction.

Whoever Tells The Best Story Wins.