Undoubtedly We Render Our Consciences Callous By

Socially We Are Woven Into The Fabric Of Society, Where Every Man Is Like One Thread In A Piece Of Cloth. No Single Thread Has A Right To Say, "i Will Stay Here No Longer," And Draw Out. No Man Has A Right To Make A Hole In The Well-woven Fabric Of Society.

A Man Without Mirth Is Like Wagon Without Springs, In Which One Is Caused Disagreeably To Jolt By Every Pebble Over Which It Turns.

A Man Who Does Not Love Praise Is Not A Full Man.

There Is No Such Thing As Preaching Patience Into People, Unless The Sermon Is So Long That They Have To Practice It While They Hear. No Man Can Learn Patience Except By Going Out Into The Hurlyburly World, And Taking Life Just As It Blows. Patience Is But Lying To, And Riding Out The Gale.

If Men Had Wings And Bore Black Feathers, Few Of Them Would Be Clever Enough To Be Crows.