Even Of Death Christianity Has Made A

Count Art By Gold, And It Fetters The Feet It Once Winged.

Friendship Needs To Be Rooted In Respect, But Love Can Live Upon Itself Alone

Coleridge Cried; "o God, How Glorious It Is To Live!" Renan Asks, "o God, When Will It Be Worth While To Live?" In Nature We Echo The Poet; In The World We Echo The Thinker.

We Only See Clearly When We Have Reached The Depths Of Woe.

Talent Wears Well, Genius Wears Itself Out; Talent Drives A Snug Brougham In Fact; Genius, A Sun-chariot In Fancy.