One's Eyes Are What One Is, One's

Only Love Makes Fruitful The Soul. The Sense Of Form That Both Had In Such High Degree Prevented Much Demonstration; But To Be With Him, Do Things For Him, To Admire, And Credit Him With Perfection; And, Since She Could Not Exactly Wear The Same Clothes Or Speak In The Same Clipped, Quiet, Decisive Voice, To Dislike The Clothes And Voices Of Other Men - All This Was Precious To Her Beyond Everything.

Art Is The One Form Of Human Energy In The Whole World, Which Really Works For Union, And Destroys The Barriers Between Man And Man. It Is The Continual, Unconscious Replacement, However Fleeting, Of Oneself By Another; The Real Cement Of Human Life; The Everlasting Refreshment And Renewal. For, What Is Grievous, Dompting, Grim, About Our Lives Is That We Are Shut Up Within Ourselves, With An Itch To Get Outside Ourselves. And To Be Stolen Away From Ourselves By Art Is A Momentary Relaxation From That Itching, A Minute's Profound, And As It Were Secret, Enfranchisement.

It Is By Muteness That A Dog Becomes For One So Utterly Beyond Value; With Him One Is At Peace, Where Words Play No Torturing Tricks.those Are The Moments That I Think Are Precious To A Dog-when, With His Adoring Soul Coming Through His Eyes, He Feels That You Are Really Thinking Of Him.

Religion Was Nearly Dead Because There Was No Longer Real Belief In Future Life; But Something Was Struggling To Take Its Place - Service - Social Service - The Ants Creed, The Bees Creed.

Matters Change And Morals Change; Men Remain.