If I Hate The Sins, I Love

The Bud, Though Plucked, Would Not Be Withered, Only Transplanted To A Fitter Soil To Ripen And Blow Beneath A Brighter Sun; And Though I Might Not Cherish And Watch My Child's Unfolding Intellect, He Would Be Snatched Away From All The Suffering And Sins Of Earth; And My Understanding Tells Me This Would Be No Great Evil; But My Heart Shrinks From The Contemplation Of Such A Possibility, And Whispers I Could Not Bear To See Him Die.

A Little Girl Loves Her Bird--why? Because It Lives And Feels; Because It Is Helpless And Harmless? A Toad, Likewise, Lives And Feels, And Is Equally Helpless And Harmless; But Though She Would Not Hurt A Toad, She Cannot Love It Like The Bird, With Its Graceful Form, Soft Feathers, And Bright, Speaking Eyes.

It Is Better To Arm And Strengthen Your Hero, Than To Disarm And Enfeeble Your Foe.

My Heart Is Too Thoroughly Dried To Be Broken In A Hurry, And I Mean To Live As Long As I Can.

Such Humble Talents As God Had Given Me I Will Endeavour To Put To Their Greatest Use; If I Am Able To Amuse, I Will Try To Benefit Too; And When I Fell It My Duty To Speak Unpalatable Truth, With The Help Of God, I Will Speak It, Through It Be To The Prejudice Of My Name And To The Detriment Of My Reader's Immediate Pleasure As Well As My Own.