It Is Those Who Make

I Know A Good Many People, I Think, Who Are Bigots, And Who Know They Are Bigots, And Are Sorry For It, But They Dare Not Be Anything Else.

Each Thing Lives According To Its Kind; The Heart By Love, The Intellect By Truth, The Higher Nature Of Man By Intimate Communion With God.

Impatience Never Commanded Success.

Hill And Valley, Seas And Constellations, Are But Stereotypes Of Divine Ideas Appealing To And Answered By The Living Soul Of Man.

In Some Way The Secret Vice Exhales Its Poison; And The Evil Passion, However Cunningly Masked, Stains Through To The Surface.