We Live Merely On The Crust Or

Charity Is From Person To Person; And It Loses Half, Far More Than Half, Its Moral Value When The Giver Is Not Brought Into Personal Relation With Those To Whom He Gives.

Look Not To Have Your Sepulchre Built In After Ages Hy The Same Foolish Hands Which Still Ever Destroy The Living Prophet. Small Honour For You If They Do Build It; And May Be They Never Will Build It.

For Me This World Was Neither So High Nor So Low As The Church Would Have It; Chequered Over With Its Wild Light Shadows, I Could Love It And All The Children Of It, More Dearly, Perhaps, Because It Was Not All Light.

Beautiful Is Old Age—beautiful As The Slow-dropping Mellow Autumn Of A Rich Glorious Summer. In The Old Man, Nature Has Fulfilled Her Work; She Loads Him With Blessings; She Fills Him With The Fruits Of A Well-spent Life; And, Surrounded By His Children And His Children's Children, She Rocks Him Softly Away To A Grave, To Which He Is Followed With Blessings. God Forbid We Should Not Call It Beautiful.

The Secret Of A Person's Nature Lies In Their Religion And What They Really Believes About The World And Their Place In It.