Just a tender sense of my own process, that holds something of my connection with the divine.

Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.

The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom.

The Galilean is not a favorite of mine. So far from owing him any thanks for his favor, I cannot avoid confessing that I owe a secret grudge to his carpentership.

Cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. . . .

Truth has always been found to promote the best interests of mankind.