The Nurse Of Full-grown Souls Is Solitude.

At The Devil's Booth Are All Things Sold. Each Ounce Of Dross Costs Its Ounce Of Gold.

Be He Nowhere Else, God Is In All That Liberates And Lifts, In All That Humbles, Sweetens, And Consoles.

Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor And Me.

The One Thing Finished In This Hasty World.

Not But Wut Abstract War Is Horrid, I Sign To Thet With All My Heart, But Civilysation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes, Upon A Powder-cart.