There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness;....and, to know, rather consists in opening out a way where the imprisoned splendor may escape, then in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.

Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!

A man in armor is his armor's slave.

My sun sets to rise again.

The candid incline to surmise of late that the Christian faith proves false.

What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.

The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!