Virtue Were A Kind Of Misery If

Business Is The Salt Of Life, Which Not Only Gives A Grateful Smack To It, But Dries Up Those Crudities That Would Offend, Preserves From Putrefaction And Drives Off All Those Blowing Flies That Would Corrupt It.

Of All Trees, I Observe God Hath Chosen The Vine, A Low Plant That Creeps Upon The Helpful Wall; Of All Beasts, The Soft And Patient Lamb; Of All Fowls, The Mild And Guileless Dove. Christ Is The Rose Of The Field, And The Lily Of The Valley. When God Appeared To Moses, It Was Not In The Lofty Cedar Nor The Sturdy Oak Nor The Spreading Palm; But In A Bush, A Humble, Slender, Abject Shrub; As If He Would, By These Elections, Check The Conceited Arrogance Of Man.

Virtue Were A Kind Of Misery If Fame Were All The Garland That Crowned Her.

If Ever I Should Affect Injustice, It Would Be In This, That I Might Do Courtesies And Receive None.

God Has Made No One Absolute.