The Meanest Thing In The World Is

If A Boy Is Not Trained To Endure And To Bear Trouble, He Will Grow Up A Girl; And A Boy That Is A Girl Has All A Girl's Weakness Without Any Of Her Regal Qualities. A Woman Made Out Of A Woman Is God's Noblest Work; A Woman Made Out Of A Man Is His Meanest.

All Our Other Faculties Seem To Have The Brown Touch Of Earth Upon Them, But The Imagination Carries The Very Livery Of Heaven, And Is God's Self In The Soul.

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.

God Wishes To Exhaust All Means Of Kindness Before His Hand Takes Hold On Justice.

No Emotion, Any More Than A Wave, Can Long Retain Its Own Individual Form.