Matter and death are mortal illusions.
Sickness is an illusion, to be annihilated by Science.
To live and let live, without clamor for distinction or recognition; to wait on divine love; to write truth first on the tablet of one's own heart - this is the sanity and perfection of living, and my human ideal.
Sorrow has its reward. It never leaves us where it found us.
Disease is an image of thought externalized.
Sin brought death, and death will disappear with the disappearance of sin.