The Choicest Thing This World Has For

There Is No Well-doing, No Godlike Doing, That Is Not Patient Doing.

God Gives Every Bird Its Food, But He Does Not Throw It Into The Nest. He Does Not Unearth The Good That The Earth Contains, But He Puts It In Our Way, And Gives Us The Means Of Getting It Ourselves.

Ideals Are The World's Masters.

Blessed Is That Man Who Knows His Own Distaff And Has Found His Own Spindle.

This World Of Sense, Built By The Imagination--how Fair And Foul It Is! Like A Fairy Island In The Sea Of Life, It Smiles In Sunlight And Sleeps In Green, Known Of The World Not By Communion Of Knowledge, But By Personal, Secret Discovery!