The World Loves A Spice Of Wickedness.

Let Us Be Merciful As Well As Just.

The Young May Die, But The Old Must!

Day, Like A Weary Pilgrim, Had Reached The Western Gate Of Heaven, And Evening Stooped Down To Unloose The Latchets Of His Sandal Shoon.

Not Enjoyment, And Not Sorrow, Is Our Destined End Or Way; But To Act, That Each Tomorrow Find Us Farther Than Today.

Life Hath Quicksands, Life Hath Snares!