Well-married, a man is winged: ill-matched, he is shackled.
The bibliophile is the master of his books, the bibliomaniac their slave.
There is no true and abiding morality that is not founded in religion.
It is not work that kills men; it is worry. Worry is rust upon the blade.
Many men want wealth,--not a competence alone, but a live-story competence. Everything subserves this; and religion they would like as a sort of lightning-rod to their houses, to ward off by and by the bolts of Divine wrath.
Storms purify the atmosphere.