Forgive us all, for we all have trespasses.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices. But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

There is a man sleeping in the grass. And over him is gathering the greatest storm of all his days. Such lightening and thunder will come there has never been seen before, bringing death and destruction. People hurry home past him, to places safe from danger. And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.

But when the dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.

It was not his habit to dwell on what could have been, but what could never be.

Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.

Ask yourself not if this or that is expedient, but if it is right.