No Man Will Ever Unfold The Capacities

There Is First The Literature Of Knowledge, And Secondly, The Literature Of Power. The Function Of The First Is -- To Teach; The Function Of The Second Is -- To Move.

Surely Everyone Is Aware Of The Divine Pleasures Which Attend A Wintry Fireside; Candles At Four O'clock, Warm Hearthrugs, Tea, A Fair Tea-maker, Shutters Closed, Curtains Flowing In Ample Draperies To The Floor, Whilst The Wind And Rain Are Raging Audibly Without.

All Is Finite In The Present; And Even That Finite Is Infinite In It Velocity Of Flight Towards Death. But In God There Is Nothing Finite...upon A Night Of Earthquake He Builds A Thousand Years Of Pleasant Habitations For Man. Upon The Sorrow Of An Infant He Raises Oftentimes From Human Intellects Glorious Vintages That Could Not Else Have Been.

Even Imperfection Itself May Have Its Ideal Or Perfect State.

The Peace Of Nature And Of The Innocent Creatures Of God Seems To Be Secure And Deep, Only So Long As The Presence Of Man And His Restless And Unquiet Spirit Are Not There To Trouble Its Sanctity.