No Man Is Sane Who Does Not

Religion, In One Sense, Is A Life Of Self-denial, Just As Husbandry, In One Sense, Is A Work Of Death.

The Human Soul Is God's Treasury, Out Of Which He Coins Unspeakable Riches.

What A Mother Sings To The Cradle Goes All The Way Down To The Coffin.

Mirth Is God's Medicine.

As Ships Meet At Sea A Moment Together, When Words Of Greeting Must Be Spoken, And Then Away Upon The Deep, So Men Meet In This World; And I Think We Should Cross No Man's Path Without Hailing Him, And If He Needs Giving Him Supplies.