Christianity is art and not money. Money is its curse.

The Man who pretends to be a modest enquirer into the truth of a self-evident thing is a Knave.

Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.

The countless gold of a merry heart, The rubies and pearls of a loving eye, The indolent never can bring to the mart, Nor the secret hoard up in his treasury.

The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.

Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.