Doubt Follows White-winged Hope With Trembling Steps.

The Wounds Of Self-love Turn Incurable When The Oxide Of Self-love Gets Into Them.

The Future Of A Nation Lies In The Hands Of Mothers.

Conviction Brings A Silent, Indefinable Beauty Into Faces Made Of The Commonest Human Clay; The Devout Worshiper At Any Shrine Reflects Something Of Its Golden Glow, Even As The Glory Of A Noble Love Shines Like A Sort Of Light From A Woman's Face.

Perhaps It Is Only Human Nature To Inflict Suffering On Anything That Will Endure Suffering, Whether By Reason Of Its Genuine Humility, Or Indifference, Or Sheer Helplessness.

The Errors Of Women Spring, Almost Always, From Their Faith In The Good, Or Their Confidence In The True