There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.

Time remorselessly rambles down the corridors and streets of our lives. but it is not until autumn that most of us become aware that our tickets are stamped with a terminal destination.

Lincoln grew immeasurably as he came to think of himself as an “instrument of God's will.

Man's glory lies not, Lincoln thought, in 'his goodness,' for this is often nonexistent. He derives glory, instead, from his being made in the image of the Living God.

Love may precede respect but it cannot survive the loss of it.

There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.