The Superstition Of Science Scoffs

There Are Epidemics Of Nobleness As Well As Epidemics Of Disease.

Beautiful Is Old Age—beautiful As The Slow-dropping Mellow Autumn Of A Rich Glorious Summer. In The Old Man, Nature Has Fulfilled Her Work; She Loads Him With Blessings; She Fills Him With The Fruits Of A Well-spent Life; And, Surrounded By His Children And His Children's Children, She Rocks Him Softly Away To A Grave, To Which He Is Followed With Blessings. God Forbid We Should Not Call It Beautiful.

Truth Only Smells Sweet Forever, And Illusions, However Innocent, Are Deadly As The Canker Worm.

Human Improvement Is From Within Outward.

What Is Called Virtue In The Common Sense Of The Word Has Nothing To Do With This Or That Man's Prosperity, Or Even Happiness.