Even Imperfection Itself May Have Its Ideal

Flowers That Are So Pathetic In Their Beauty, Frail As The Clouds, And In Their Coloring As Gorgeous As The Heavens, Had Through Thousands Of Years Been The Heritage Of Children - Honored As The Jewelry Of God.

The Public Is A Bad Guesser.

Solitude, Though It May Be Silent As Light, Is Like Light, The Mightiest Of Agencies; For Solitude Is Essential To Man. All Men Come Into This World Alone And Leave It Alone.

I Feel That There Is No Such Thing As Ultimate Forgetting; Traces Once Impressed Upon The Memory Are Indestructible.

Grief! Thou Art Classed Amongst The Depressing Passions. And True It Is That Thou Humblest To The Dust, But Also Thou Exaltest To The Clouds. Thou Shakest Us With Ague, But Also Thou Steadiest Like Frost. Thou Sickenest The Heart, But Also Thou Healest Its Infirmities.