Enthusiasm Imparts Itself Magnetically And

Our Friends Interpret The World And Ourselves To Us, If We Take Them Tenderly And Truly, Nor Need We But Love Them Devotedly To Become Members Of An Immortal Fraternity, Superior To Accident Or Change.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

A Chaste Generation Would Restore Paradise.

An Age Deficient In Idealism Has Ever Been One Of Immorality And Superficial Attainment, Since Without The Sense Of Ideas, Nobility Of Character Becomes Of Rare Attainment, If Possible.

Life Is One, Religion One, Creeds Are Many And Diverse.