The atmosphere of our time is fast being cleared of the fumes and deadly gases that arose during the carboniferous age of theology.

One is tempted to say that the most human plants, after all, are the weeds.

Travel and society polish one, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, and a little moss is a good thing on a man.

The overall quantity of nuclear weapons in the world continues to decline slowly.

The sunbeams are welcome now. They seem like pure electricity—like friendly and recuperating lightning. Are we led to think electricity abounds only in summer, when we see in the storm-clouds as it were, the veins and ore-beds of it? I imagine it is equally abundant in winter, and more equable and better tempered. Who ever breasted a snowstorm without being excited and exhilarated, as if this meteor had come charged with latent auroræ of the North, as doubtless it has? It is like being pelted with sparks from a battery.

He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter.

Man is, and always has been, a maker of gods. It has been the most serious and significant occupation of his sojourn in the world.