Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide.
The devil loves nothing better than the intolerance of reformers.
What a sense of security in an old book which Time has criticized for us!
Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how.
It seems to me that the bane of our country is a profession of faith either with no basis of real belief, or with no proper examination of the grounds on which the creed is supposed to rest.