Wisdom And Goodness Are Twin-born, One Heart

A Man Never Sees All That His Mother Has Been To Him Until It's Too Late To Let Her Know That He Sees It.

Christ And The Life Of Christ Is At This Moment Inspiring The Literature Of The World As Never Before, And Raising It Up A Witness Against Waste And Want And War. It May Confess Him, As In Tolstoi's Work It Does, Or It May Deny Him, But It Cannot Exclude Him; And In The Degree That It Ignores His Spirit, Modern Literature Is Artistically Inferior. In Other Words, All Good Literature Is Now Christmas Literature.

The Swelling And Towering Omnibuses, The Huge Trucks And Wagons And Carriages, The Impetuous Hansoms And The More Sobered Four-wheelers, The Pony-carts, Donkey-carts, Hand-carts, And Bicycles Which Fearlessly Find Their Way Amidst The Turmoil, With Foot-passengers Winding In And Out, And Covering The Sidewalks With Their Multitude, Give The Effect Of A Single Monstrous Organism, Which Writhes Swiftly Along The Channel Where It Had Run In The Figure Of A Flood Till You Were Tired Of That Metaphor. You Are Now A Molecule Of That Vast Organism.

I Know, Indeed, Of Nothing More Subtly Satisfying And Cheering Than A Knowledge Of The Real Good Will And Appreciation Of Others. Such Happiness Does Not Come With Money, Nor Does It Flow From Fine Physical State. It Cannot Be Brought. But It Is The Keenest Joy, After All; And The Toiler's Truest And Best Reward.

Do Not Trouble Yourselves About Standards Or Ideals; But Try To Be Faithful And Natural: Remember That There Is No Greatness, No Beauty, Which Does Not Come From Truth To Your Own Knowledge Of Things; And Keep On Working, Even If Your Work Is Not Long Remembered.