Year by year, more and more of the world gets disenchanted. Even the icy privacy of the arctic and antarctic circles is invaded. We have played Jack Horner with our earth, till there is never a plum left in it.

Men! whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free, If there breathe on earth a slave, Are ye truly free and brave?

Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past.

If one waits for the right time to come before writing, the right time never comes.

I who still pray at morning and at eve Thrice in my life perhaps have truly prayed, Thrice stirred below conscious self Have felt that perfect disenthrallment which is God.

The greatest homage we can pay to truth, is to use it.

The story of any one man's real experience finds its startling parallel in that of every one of us.