Every Nerve That Can Thrill With Pleasure,

Both Poetry And Philosophy Are Prodigal Of Eulogy Over The Mind Which Ransoms Itself By Its Own Energy From A Captivity To Custom, Which Breaks The Common Bounds Of Empire, And Cuts A Simplon Over Mountains Of Difficulty For Its Own Purposes, Whether Of Good Or Of Evil.

We Are Prone To Seek Immediate Pleasure Or Good, However Small, Rather Than Remote Pleasure Or Good, However Vast.

I Look Upon Phrenology As The Guide To Philosophy And The Handmaid Of Christianity. Whoever Disseminates True Phrenology Is A Public Benefactor.

Temptation Is A Fearful Word. It Indicates The Beginning Of A Possible Series Of Infinite Evils. It Is The Ringing Of An Alarm Bell, Whose Melancholy Sounds May Reverberate Through Eternity. Like The Sudden, Sharp Cry Of "fire!" Under Our Windows By Night, It Should Rouse Us To Instantaneous Action, And Brace Every Muscle To Its Highest Tension.

Doing Nothing For Others Is The Undoing Of One's Self. We Must Be Purposely Kind And Generous, Or We Miss The Best Part Of Existence. The Heart That Goes Out Of Itself, Gets Large And Full Of Joy. This Is The Great Secret Of The Inner Life. We Do Ourselves The Most Good Doing Something For Others.