Heaven Is A Place Of

A Library Is But The Soul's Burial Ground; It Is The Land Of Shadows. Yet One Is Impressed With The Thought, The Labor, And The Struggle, Represented In This Vast Catacomb Of Books. Who Could Dream, By The Placid Waters That Issue From The Level Mouths Of Brooks Into The Lake, All The Plunges, The Whirls, The Divisions, And Foaming Rushes That Had Brought Them Down To The Tranquil Exit? And Who Can Guess Through What Channels Of Disturbance, And Experiences Of Sorrow, The Heart Passed That Has Emptied Into This Dead Sea Of Books?

What We Call Wisdom Is The Result Of All The Wisdom Of Past Ages. Our Best Institutions Are Like Young Trees Growing Upon The Roots Of The Old Trunks That Have Crumbled Away.

Men Are Like Trees: Each One Must Put Forth The Leaf That Is Created In Him.

The Art Of Being Happy Lies In The Power Of Extracting Happiness From Common Things.

God Puts The Excess Of Hope In One Man, In Order That It May Be A Medicine To The Man Who Is Despondent.