One Errs As Long As One Strives.

All Sects Seem To Me To Be Right In What They Assert, And Wrong In What They Deny.

One Lives But Once In The World.

All Perishable Is But An Allegory.

The Eternal Feminine Draws Us On High.

Our Destiny Often Looks Like A Fruit-tree In Winter. Who Would Think From Its Pitiable Aspect That Those Rigid Boughs, Those Rough Twigs Could Next Spring Again Be Green, Bloom, And Even Bear Fruit? Yet We Hope It, We Know It.