I Count Myself One Of The Number

The Rich Are Like Beasts Of Burden, Carrying Treasure All Day, And At The Night Of Death Unladen; They Carry To Their Grave Only The Bruises And Marks Of Their Toil.

The Flesh Does Not By Its Own Virtue Purify, But Is Purified By Virtue Of The Word By Which It Was Assumed, When 'the Word Became Flesh And Dwelt Among Us' (jn. 1:14).

The Ministry Is A Weight From Which Even An Angel Might Shrink

The World Is A Great Book, Of Which They That Never Stir From Home Read Only A Page.

Poetry Is Devil's Wine.