Thou art beautiful because God created thee, but thou art a slave to sin... wickedness has made you ugly.

No; but you came, and found the riddles waiting for you! Indeed you are yourself the only riddle. What you call riddles are truths, and seem riddles because you are not true.

For this, deep waters whelm the fruitful lea, Wars ravage, famine wastes, plague withers, nor Shall cease till men have chosen the better part.

But more impressive than the facts and figures as to height, width, age, etc., are the entrancing beauty and tranquility that pervade the forest, the feelings of peace, awe and reverence that it inspires.

What distressed me most - more even than my own folly - was the perplexing question, How can beauty and ugliness dwell so near?

Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk.

Anything big enough to occupy our minds is big enough to hang a prayer on.