Sorrows, As Storms, Bring Down The Clouds

Gambling With Cards Or Dice Or Stocks Is All One Thing. It's Getting Money Without Giving An Equivalent For It.

No Man Can Tell Another His Faults So As To Benefit Him, Unless He Loves Him.

There Can Be No Barrenness In Full Summer. The Very Sand Will Yield Something. Rocks Will Have Mosses, And Every Rift Will Have Its Wind-flower, And Every Crevice A Leaf; While From The Fertile Soil Will Be Reared A Gorgeous Troop Of Growths, That Will Carry Their Life In Ten Thousand Forms, But All With Praise To God. And So It Is When The Soul Knows Its Summer. Love Redeems Its Weakness, Clothes Its Barrenness, Enriches Its Poverty, And Makes Its Very Desert To Bud And Blossom As The Rose.

Prayer Is Often An Argument Of Laziness: "lord, My Temper Gives Me A Vast Deal Of Inconvenience, And It Would Be A Great Task For Me To Correct It; And Wilt Thou Be Pleased To Correct It For Me, That I May Get Along Easier?" If Prayer Was Answered Under Such Circumstances, Independent Of Action Of Natural Laws, It Would Be Paying A Premium On Indolence.

The Methods By Which Men Have Met And Conquered Trouble, Or Been Slain By It, Are The Same In Every Age.