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The Devil Loves Nothing Better Than The Intolerance Of Reformers.

-James Russell Lowell

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The Devil Loves Nothing

James Russell Lowell

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The Devil Loves Nothing Better Than The Intolerance Of Reformers.

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A Great Part Of Human Suffering Has Its Root In The Nature Of Man, And Not In That Of His Institutions.

They Are Slaves Who Fear To Speak For The Fallen And The Weak; They Are Slaves Who Will Not Choose Hatred, Scoffing, And Abuse, Rather Than In Silence Shrink From The Truth They Needs Must Think; They Are Slaves Who Dare Not Be In The Right With Two Or Three.

One Learns More Metaphysics From A Single Temptation Than From All The Philosophers.

Whom The Heart Of Man Shuts Out, Sometimes The Heart Of God Takes In, And Fences Them All Round About With Silence Mid The Worlds Loud Din.

Now The Heart Is So Full That A Drop Overfills It, We Are Happy Now Because God So Wills It; No Matter How Barren The Past May Have Been, 't Is Enough For Us Now That The Leaves Are Green; We Sit In The Warm Shade And Feel Right Well How The Sap Creeps Up And The Blossoms Swell... The Breeze Comes Whispering In Our Ear, That Dandelions Are Blossoming Near... Every Thing Is Upward Striving; 't Is As Easy Now For The Heart To Be True As For Grass To Be Green Or Skies To Be Blue, - 't Is The Natural Way Of Living.

Ye Come And Go Incessant; We Remain Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past; Be Reverent, Ye Who Flit And Are Forgot, Of Faith So Nobly Realized As This.

The Green Grass Floweth Like A Stream Into The Oceans's Blue.

Who Is It Needs Such Flawless Shafts As Fate? What Archer Of His Arrows Is So Choice, Or Hits The White So Surely?

Then To Side With Truth Is Noble When We Share Her Wretched Crust, Ere Her Cause Bring Fame And Profit, And 't Is Prosperous To Be Just; Then It Is The Brave Man Chooses, While The Coward Stands Aside, Doubting In His Abject Spirit, Till His Lord Is Crucified.

In The Scale Of The Destinies, Brawn Will Never Weigh So Mach As Brain.

Over All Life Broods Poesy, Like The Calm Blue Sky With Its Motherly, Rebuking Face. She Is The Great Reformer, And Where The Love Of Her Is Strong And Healthy, Wickedness And Wrong Cannot Long Prevail.

Ah, Men Do Not Know How Much Strength Is In Poise, That He Goes The Farthest Who Goes Far Enough.

And Blessed Are The Horny Hands Of Toil.

The Holy Supper Is Kept, Indeed, In Whatso We Share With Anothers Need; Not What We Give, But What We Share, For The Gift Without The Giver Is Bare; Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor, And Me.

Practical Application Is The Only Mordant Which Will Set Things In The Memory. Study Without It Is Gymnastics, And Not Work, Which Alone Will Get Intellectual Bread.

God Is Not Dumb, That He Should Speak No More; If Thou Hast Wanderings In The Wilderness And Find'st Not Sinai, 'tis Thy Soul Is Poor.

Time Is, After All, The Greatest Of Poets; And The Sons Of Memory Stand A Better Chance Of Being The Heirs Of Fame.

The True Ideal Is Not Opposed To The Real But Lies In It; And Blessed Are The Eyes That Find It.

To Me It Seems Not Unreasonable To Find A Re-enforcement Of Optimism, A Renewal Of Courage And Hope, In The Modern Theory That Man Has Mounted To What He Is From The Lowest Step Of Potentiality, Through Toilsome Grades Of Ever-expanding Existence, Even Thought It Have Been By A Spiral Stairway, Mainly Dark Or Dusty, With Loop-holes At Long Intervals Only, And These Granting But A Narrow And One-sided View.

If I Were Asked What Book Is Better Than A Cheap Book, I Should Answer That There Is One Book Better Than A Cheap Book, - And That Is A Book Honestly Come By.

The One Thing Finished In This Hasty World.

Every Person Born Into This World Their Work Is Born With Them.

It Seems To Me That The Bane Of Our Country Is A Profession Of Faith Either With No Basis Of Real Belief, Or With No Proper Examination Of The Grounds On Which The Creed Is Supposed To Rest.

Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic Bolts The Firefly Threw.

But Better Far It Is To Speak One Simple Word, Which Now And Then Shall Waken Their Free Nature In The Weak And Friendless Sons Of Men.

From Lower To The Higher Next, Not To The Top, Is Nature's Text; And Embryo Good, To Reach Full Stature, Absorbs The Evil In Its Nature.

A Weed Is No More Than A Flower In Disguise, Which Is Seen Through At Once, If Love Give A Man Eyes.

Aspiration Sees Only One Side Of Every Question; Possession Many.

What Men Call Luck Is The Prerogative Of Valiant Souls, The Fealty Life Pays Its Rightful Kings.

This Imputation Of Inconsistency Is One To Which Every Sound Politician And Every Honest Thinker Must Sooner Or Later Subject Himself. The Foolish And The Dead Alone Never Change Their Opinion.

Reputation Is Only A Candle, Of Wavering And Uncertain Flame, And Easily Blown Out, But It Is The Light By Which The World Looks For And Finds Merit.

What A Sense Of Security In An Old Book Which Time Has Criticized For Us!

Death Is Delightful. Death Is Dawn, The Waking From A Weary Night Of Fevers Unto Truth And Light.

All God's Angels Come To Us Disguised.

Though Old The Thought And Oft Exprest, Tis His At Last Who Says It Best.

Count Me O'er Earth's Chosen Heroes, - They Were Souls That Stood Alone, While The Men They Agonized For Hurled The Contumelious Stone, Stood Serene, And Down The Future Saw The Golden Beam Incline To The Side Of Perfect Justice, Mastered By Their Faith Divine, By One Man's Plain Truth To Manhood And To God's Supreme Design.

It Is The Privilege Of Genius That Life Never Grows Common Place, As It Does For The Rest Of Us.

If The Devil Take A Less Hateful Shape To Us Than To Our Fathers, He Is As Busy With Us As With Them.

Good Heavens, Of What Un Costly Material Is Our Earthly Happiness Composed... If We Only Knew It. What Incomes Have We Not Had From A Flower, And How Unfailing Are The Dividends Of The Seasons.

There Comes Emerson First, Whose Rich Words, Every One, Are Like Gold Nails In Temples To Hang Trophies On.

Those Who Love Are But One Step From Heaven.

Taste Is The Next Gift To Genius.

The Brain Can Be Easy To Buy, But The Heart Never Comes To Market.

Not As All Other Women Are Is She That To My Soul Is Dear; Her Glorious Fancies Come From Far, Beneath The Silver Evening Star, And Yet Her Heart Is Ever Near.

That Cause Is Strong Which Has, Not A Multitude, But One Strong Man Behind It.

The Sentimentalist Does Not Think Of What He Does So Much As Of What The World Will Think Of What He Does.

Piety Is Indifferent Whether She Enters At The Eye Or At The Ear. There Is None Of The Senses At Which She Does Not Knock One Day Or Other. The Puritans Forgot This, And Thrust Beauty Out Of The Meeting-house And Slammed The Door In Her Face.

Not What We Give, But What We Share, For The Gift Without The Giver Is Bare.

It Is Not Without Reason That Fame Is Awarded Only After Death. The Cloud-dust Of Notoriety Which Follows And Envelops The Men Who Drive With The Wind Bewilders Contemporary Judgment.

Truth Forever On The Scaffold, Wrong Forever On The Throne.

The Quiet Tenderness Of Chaucer, Where You Almost Seem To Hear The Hot Tears Falling, And The Simple Choking Words Sobbed Out.

Fate Loves Best Such Syllables As Are Sweet And Sonorous On The Tongue.

Earth Gets Its Price For What Earth Gives Us.

Where Church And State Are Habitually Associated, It Is Natural That Minds, Even Of A High Order, Should Unconsciously Come To Regard Religion As Only A Subtler Mode Of Police.

No Price Is Set On The Lavish Summer; June May Be Had By The Poorest Comer.

Life Seems A Jest Of Fate's Contriving.

The Traitor To Humanity Is The Traitor Most Accurst.

To Educate The Intelligence Is To Expand The Horizon Of Its Wants And Desires.

There Are Two Kinds Of Genius. The First And Highest May Be Said To Speak Out Of The Eternal To The Present, And Must Compel Its Age To Understand It; The Second Understands Its Age, And Tells It What It Wishes To Be Told.

God's Livery Is A Very Plain One; But Its Wearers Have Good Reason To Be Content. If It Have Not So Much Gold-lace About It As Satan's, It Keeps Out Foul Weather Better, And Is Besides A Great Deal Cheaper.

To Genius Life Never Grows Commonplace.

When I Was A Beggarly Boy, And Lived In A Cellar Damp, I Had Not A Friend Nor A Toy, But I Had Aladdin's Lamp.

It Was In Making Education Not Only Common To All, But In Some Sense Compulsory On All, That The Destiny Of The Free Republics Of America Was Practically Settled.

And What They Dare To Dream Of, Date To Do.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.

Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past.

Reading Chaucer Is Like Brushing Through The Dewy Grass At Sunrise.

Poetry Is Something To Make Us Wiser And Better, By Continually Revealing Those Types Of Beauty And Truth, Which God Has Set In All Men's Souls.

The True Historical Genius, To Our Thinking, Is That Which Can See The Nobler Meaning Of Events That Are Near Him, As The True Poet Is He Who Detects The Divine In The Casual; And We Somewhat Suspect The Depth Of His Insight Into The Past Who Cannot Recognize The Godlike Of To-day Under That Disguise In Which It Always Visits Us.

Earth's Noblest Thing,-a Woman Perfected.

O Visionary World, Condition Strange, Where Naught Abiding Is But Only Change.

Certainly It Is No Shame To A Man That He Should Be As Nice About His Country As His Sweetheart, Yet It Would Not Be Wise To Hold Everyone An Enemy Who Could Not See Her With Our Own Enchanted Eyes.

In The Storm, Like A Prophet O'ermaddened, Thou Singest And Tossest Thy Branches; Thy Heart With The Terror Is Gladdened, Thou Forebodest The Dread Avalanches.... In The Calm Thou O'erstretchest The Valleys With Thine Arms, As If Blessings Imploring, Like An Old King Led Forth From His Palace, When His People To Battle Are Pouring.

Attention Is The Stuff That Memory Is Made Of, And Memory Is Accumulated Genius.

No Man Can Produce Great Things Who Is Not Thoroughly Sincere In Dealing With Himself, Who Would Not Exchange The Finest Show For The Poorest Reality, Who Does Not So Love His Work That He Is Not Only Glad To Give Himself For It, But Finds Rather A Gain Than A Sacrifice In The Surrender.

It May Be Conjectured That It Is Cheaper In The Long Run To Lift Men Up Than To Hold Them Down, And That The Ballot In Their Hands Is Less Dangerous To Society Than A Sense Of Wrong Is In Their Heads.

That Best Academy, A Mother's Knee.

Sorrow Is The Great Idealizer.

Each Day The World Is Born Anew For Him Who Takes It Rightly.

For There's Nothing We Read Of In Torture's Inventions, Like A Well-meaning Dunce, With The Best Of Intentions.

The Only Faith That Wears Well And Holds Its Color In All Weathers Is That Which Is Woven Of Conviction And Set With The Sharp Mordant Of Experience.

Nature, They Say, Doth Dote, And Cannot Make A Man Save On Some Worn-out Plan Repeating Us By Rote: For Him Her Old World Moulds Aside She Threw And, Choosing Sweet Clay From The Breast Of The Unexhausted West, With Stuff Untainted Shaped A Hero New.

My Gran'ther's Rule Was Safer 'n 't Is To Crow: Don't Never Prophesy - Onless Ye Know.

A Word Once Vulgarized Can Never Be Rehabilitated.

Wut 's Words To Them Whose Faith An' Truth On War's Red Techstone Rang True Metal; Who Ventered Life An' Love An' Youth For The Gret Prize O' Death In Battle?

Mishaps Are Like Knives, That Either Serve Us Or Cut Us, As We Grasp Them By The Blade Or The Handle.

There Is No Bore We Dread Being Left Alone With So Much As Our Own Minds.

No Sincere Desire Of Doing Good Need Make An Enemy Of A Single Human Being; That Philanthropy Has Surely A Flaw In It Which Cannot Sympathize With The Oppressor Equally As With The Oppressed.

How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man, Grave Copier Of Copies.

For Only By Unlearning Wisdom Comes.

An Angel Stood And Met My Gaze, Through The Low Doorway Of My Tent; The Tent Is Struck, The Vision Stays; I Only Know She Came And Went.

He Who Esteems The Virginia Reel A Bait To Draw Saints From Their Spiritual Weal, And Regards The Quadrille As A Far Greater Knavery Than Crushing His African Children With Slavery, Since All Who Take Part In A Waltz Or Cotillon Are Mounted For Hell On The Devil's Own Pillion, Who, As Every True Orthodox Christian Well Knows, Approaches The Heart Through The Door Of The Toes.

The Heart Forgets Its Sorrow And Ache.

Truth Forever On The Scaffold, Wrong Forever On The Throne,- Yet That Scaffold Sways The Future, And, Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God Within The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

The Rich Man's Sons Inherits Cares; The Bank May Break, The Factory Burn, A Breath May Burst His Bubble Shares, And Soft, White Hands Could Hardly Earn A Living That Would Serve His Turn.

It Is Good To Lengthen To The Last A Sunny Mood.

In All Literary History There Is No Such Figure As Dante, No Such Homogeneousness Of Life And Works, Such Loyalty To Ideas, Such Sublime Irrecognition Of The Unessential.

Keats Longed For Fame, But Longed Above All To Deserve It.

The Gift Without The Giver Is Rare.

It Is Not The Insurrections Of Ignorance That Are Dangerous, But The Revolts Of The Intelligence.

Earth Gets Its Price For What Earth Gives Us; The Beggar Is Taxed For A Corner To Die In, The Priest Hath His Fee Who Comes And Shrives Us, We Bargain For The Graves We Lie In; Each Ounce Of Dross Costs Its Ounce Of Gold... 't Is Heaven Alone That Is Given Away, 't Is Only God May Be Had For The Asking; There Is No Price Set On The Lavish Summer, And June May Be Had By The Poorest Comer.

All That Hath Been Majestical In Life Or Death, Since Time Began, Is Native In The Simple Heart Of All, The Angel Heat Of Man.

So We're All Right, An' I, For One, Don't Think Our Cause'll Lose In Vally By Rammin' Scriptur' In Our Gun, An' Gittin' Natur' For An Ally.

Greatly Begin. Though Thou Have Time, But For A Line, Be That Sublime. Not Failure, But Low Aim Is Crime.

No Man Is Born Into The World Whose Work Is Not Born With Him. There Is Always Work, And Tools To Work Withal, For Those Who Will; And Blessed Are The Horny Hands Of Toil.

We Kind O' Thought Christ Went Agin War An' Pillage.

They Are Slaves Who Fear To Speak, For The Fallen And The Weak.

The Victory's In Believing.

Blessed Are They Who Have Nothing To Say And Who Cannot Be Persuaded To Say It.

A Man Is Old When He Can Pass An Apple Orchard And Not Remember The Stomachache.

The Foolish And The Dead Alone Never Change Their Opinions.

With Every Step Of The Recent Traveler Our Inheritance Of The Wonderful Is Diminished. Those Beautiful Pictured Notes Of The Possible Are Redeemed At A Ruinous Discount In The Hard Coin Of The Actual.

Console Yourself, Dear Man And Brother; Whatever You May Be Sure Of, Be Sure At Least Of This, That You Are Dreadfully Like Other People. Human Nature Has A Much Greater Genius For Sameness Than For Originality.

The Better Part Of Every Man's Education Is That Which He Gives Himself.

Over Our Manhood Bend The Skies; Against Our Fallen And Traitor Lives The Great Winds Utter Prophecies; With Our Faint Hearts The Mountain Strives, Its Arms Outstretched, The Druid Wood Waits With Its Benedicite And To Our Ages Drowsy Blood Still Shouts The Inspiring Sea.

The Greatest Homage We Can Pay To Truth, Is To Use It.

He Who Keeps His Faith Only, Cannot Be Discrowned.

There Is No Self-delusion More Fatal Than That Which Makes The Conscience Dreamy With The Anodyne Of Lofty Sentiments, While The Life Is Groveling And Sensual

Fastidiousness Is Only Another Word For Egotism; And All Men Who Know Not Where To Look For Truth Save In The Narrow Well Of Self Will Find Their Own Image At The Bottom, And Mistake It For What They Are Seeking.

In Life's Small Things Be Resolute And Great To Keep Thy Muscle Trained; Know'st Thou When Fate Thy Measure Takes, Or When She'll Say To Thee, "i Find Thee Worthy; Do This Deed For Me?"

Better One Bite At Forty, Of Truths Bitter Rind, Than The Hot Wine That Gushed From The Vintage Of Twenty.

Fortune Is The Rod Of The Weak, And The Staff Of The Brave.

Some Kind Of Pace May Be Got Out Of The Eeriest Jade By The Near Prospect Of Oats; But The Thoroughbred Has The Spur In His Blood.

This Goin' Ware Glory Waits Ye Haint One Agreeable Feetur.

The Secret Of Force In Writing Lies Not So Much In The Pedigree Of Nouns And Adjectives And Verbs, As In Having Something That You Believe In To Say, And Making The Parts Of Speech Vividly Conscious Of It.

The Course Of A Great Statesman Resembles That Of Navigable Rivers, Avoiding Immovable Obstacles With Noble Bends Of Concession, Seeking The Broad Levels Of Opinion On Which Men Soonest Settle And Longest Dwell, Following And Marking The Almost Imperceptible Slopes Of National Tendency, Yet Always Aiming At Direct Advances, Always Recruited From Sources Nearer Heaven, And Sometimes Bursting Open Paths Of Progress And Fruitful Human Commerce Through What Seem The Eternal Barriers Of Both.

Praise Follows Truth Afar Off, And Only Overtakes Her At The Grave; Plausibility Clings To Her Skirts And Holds Her Back Till Then

A Sneer Is The Weapon Of The Weak. Like Other Devil's Weapons, It Is Always Cunningly Ready To Our Hand, And There Is More Poison In The Handle Than In The Point.

Ah, In This World, Where Every Guiding Thread Ends Suddenly In The One Sure Centre, Death, The Visionary Hand Of Might-have-been Alone Can Fill Desire's Cup To The Brim!

Tis Easy Now For The Heart To Be True As For Grass To Be Green Or Skies To Be Blue-- 'tis The Natural Way Of Living.

The Future Works Out Great Men's Destinies; The Present Is Enough For Common Souls, Who, Never Looking Forward, Are Indeed Mere Clay Wherein The Footprints Of Their Age Are Petrified Forever.

It Is Curious How Tyrannical The Habit Of Reading Is...

Tyrants Are But The Spawn Of Ignorance, Begotten By The Slaves They Trample On.

May Is A Pious Fraud Of The Almanac.

Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God With The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

Breaking Silence

The Pressure Of Public Opinion Is Like The Pressure Of The Atmosphere; You Can't See It - But All The Same, It Is Sixteen Pounds To The Square Inch.

Not A Change For The Better In Our Human Housekeeping Has Ever Taken Place That Wise And Good Men Have Not Opposed It-have Not Prophesied That The World Would Wake Up To Find Its Throat Cut In Consequence.

God'll Send The Bill To You.

Not Failure, But Low Aim, Is Crime.

Old Gold Has A Civilizing Virtue Which New Gold Must Grow Old To Be Capable Of Secreting.

He Mastered Whatever Was Not Worth The Knowing.

In The Gain Or Loss Of One Race All The Rest Have Equal Claim.

And But Two Ways Are Offered To Our Will, Toil With Rare Triumph, Ease With Safe Disgrace, The Problem Still For Us And All Of Human Race.

He Gives Us The Very Quintessence Of Perception,-the Clearly Crystalized Precipitation Of All That Is Most Precious In The Ferment Of Impression After The Impertinent And Obtrusive Particulars Have Evaporated From The Memory.

Ez Fer War, I Call It Murder,- There You Hev It Plain An' Flat; I Don't Want To Go No Furder Than My Testyment Fer That. . . . . . An' You 've Gut To Git Up Airly Ef You Want To Take In God.

One Of The Things Particularly Admirable In The Public Utterances Of President Lincoln Is A Certain Tone Of Familiar Dignity, Which, While It Is Perhaps The Most Difficult Attainment Of Mere Style, Is Also No Doubtful Indication Of Personal Character. There Must Be Something Essentially Noble In An Elective Ruler Who Can Descend To The Level Of Confidential Ease Without Forfeiting Respect, Something Very Manly In One Who Can Break Through The Etiquette Of His Conventional Rank And Trust Himself To The Reason And Intelligence Of Those Who Have Elected Him.

Beauty Hath No True Glass, Except It Be In The Sweet Privacy Of Loving Eyes.

To Win The Secret Of A Weed's Plain Heart.

Pride And Weakness Are Siamese Twins.

There Is No Good In Arguing With The Inevitable. The Only Argument Available With An East Wind Is To Put On Your Overcoat.

They Talk About Their Pilgrim Blood, Their Birthright High And Holy! A Mountain-stream That Ends In Mud Thinks Is Melancholy.

Before Man Made Us Citizens, Great Nature Made Us Men.

Joy Comes, Grief Goes, We Know Not How.

There Is Something Solid And Doughty In The Man That Can Rise From Defeat, The Stuff Of Which Victories Are Made In Due Time, When We Are Able To Choose Our Position Better, And The Sun Is At Our Back.

Communism Means Barbarism.

Once To Every Man And Nation, Comes The Moment To Decide, In The Strife Of Truth With Falsehood, For The Good Or Evil Side; Some Great Cause, Some Great Decision, Offering Each The Bloom Or Blight, And The Choice Goes By Forever, ’twixt That Darkness And That Light.

His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern Went Pity-zekle.

The Dandelions And Buttercups Gild All The Lawn: The Drowsy Bee Stumbles Among The Clover Tops, And Summer Sweetens All To Me.

Laborin' Man An' Laborin' Woman Hev One Glory An' One Shame; Ev'y Thin' Thet' S Done Inhuman Injers All On 'em The Same.

Dear Common Flower, That Grow'st Beside The Way, Fringing The Dusty Road With Harmless Gold, First Pledge Of Blithesome May, Which Children Pluck, And, Full Of Pride Uphold.

The Greater Your Real Strength And Power, The Quieter It Will Be Exercised.

Endurance Is The Crowning Quality, And Patience All The Passion Of Great Hearts.

The Surest Plan To Make A Man Is, Think Him So.

Not A Deed Would He Do, Not A Word Would He Utter, Till He's Weighed Its Relation To Plain Bread And Butter.

Faith In God, Faith In Man, Faith In Work: This Is The Short Formula In Which We May Sum Up The Teachings Of The Founders Of New England,--a Creed Ample Enough For This Life And The Next.

The Ash Her Purple Drops Forgivingly And Sadly, Breaking Not The General Hush; The Maple Swamps Glow Like A Sunset Sea, Each Leaf A Ripple With Its Separate Flush; All Round The Wood's Edge Creeps The Skirting Blaze, Ere The Rain Falls, The Cautious Farmer Burns His Brush.

Be Noble! And The Nobleness That Liesin Other Men, Sleeping, But Never Dead,will Rise In Majesty To Meet Thine Own.

And I Honor The Man Who Is Willing To Sink Half His Present Repute For The Freedom To Think, And, When He Has Thought, Be His Cause Strong Or Weak, Will Risk T' Other Half For The Freedom To Speak.

To Put More Faith In Lies And Hate Than Truth And Love, Is The True Atheism.

't Is Heaven Alone That Is Given Away; 't Is Only God May Be Had For The Asking.

Never Did Poesy Appear So Full Of Heaven To Me, As When I Saw How It Would Pierce Through Pride And Fear To The Lives Of Coarsest Men.

Men! Whose Boast It Is That Ye Come Of Fathers Brave And Free, If There Breathe On Earth A Slave, Are Ye Truly Free And Brave?

True Love Is But A Humble, Low Born Thing, And Hath Its Food Served Up In Earthenware; It Is A Thing To Walk With, Hand In Hand, Through The Every-dayness Of This Workday World.

It ["the Ancient Mariner"] Is Marvellous In Its Mastery Over That Delightfully Fortuitous Inconsequence That Is The Adamantine Logic Of Dreamland.

The Devil Loves Nothing Better Than The Intolerance Of Reformers.

What Men Prize Most Is A Privilege, Even If It Be That Of Chief Mourner At A Funeral.

And The Choice Goes By Forever 'twixt That Darkness And That Light.

It Is The Vain Endeavor To Make Ourselves What We Are Not That Has Strewn History With So Many Broken Purposes And Lives Left In The Rough.

The Story Of Any One Man's Real Experience Finds Its Startling Parallel In That Of Every One Of Us.

Compromise Makes A Good Umbrella, But A Poor Roof; It Is Temporary Expedient, Often Wise In Party Politics, Almost Sure To Be Unwise In Statesmanship.

There Is Something Magnificent In Having A Country To Love.

A Wise Skepticism Is The First Attribute Of A Good Critic.

The Ultimate Result Of Protecting Fools From Their Folly Is To Fill The Planet Full Of Fools.

The Child Is Not Mine As The First Was, I Cannot Sing It To Rest, I Cannot Lift It Up Fatherly And Bliss It Upon My Breast; Yet It Lies In My Little One's Cradle And Sits In My Little One's Chair, And The Light Of The Heaven She's Gone To Transfigures Its Golden Hair.

The Discontent With The Existing Order Of Things Pervaded The Atmosphere, Wherever The Conditions Were Favorable, Long Before Columbus, Seeking The Back Door Of Asia, Found Himself Knocking At The Front Door Of America.

Truth, After All, Wears A Different Face To Everybody, And It Would Be Too Tedious To Wait Till All Were Agreed.

Ef You Want Peace, The Thing You've Gut To Du Is Jes' To Show You're Up To Fightin', Tu.

I Have Always Been Of The Mind That In A Democracy Manners Are The Only Effective Weapons Against The Bowie-knife.

Nature Fits All Her Children With Something To Do, He Who Would Write And Can't Write, Can Surely Review.

Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor And Me.

There Is Nothing So Desperately Monotonous As The Sea, And I No Longer Wonder At The Cruelty Of Pirates.

Folks Never Understand The Folks They Hate.

That Love For One, From Which There Doth Not Spring Wide Love For All, Is But A Worthless Thing.

Stories Now, To Suit A Public Taste, Must Be Half Epigram, Half Pleasant Vice.

The Riches Of Scholarship, The Benignities Of Literature, Defy Fortune And Outlive Calamity. They Are Beyond The Reach Of Thief Or Moth Or Rust. As They Cannot Be Inherited, So They Cannot, Be Alienated.

Time Makes Ancient Good Uncouth.

Onward And Upward

Truth, After All, Wears A Different Face To Everybody, And It Would Be Too Tedious To Wait Till All Were Agreed. She Is Said To Lie At The Bottom Of A Well, For The Very Reason, Perhaps, That Whoever Looks Down In Search Of Her Sees His Own Image At The Bottom, And Is Persuaded Not Only That He Has Seen The Goddess, But That She Is Far Better Looking Than He Had Imagined.

Different Faces

He's True To God Who's True To Man.

Now The Heart Is So Full That A Drop Overfills It; We Are Happy Now Because God Wills It.

Life Is A Sheet Of Paper White / Whereon Each One Of Us May Write / His Word Or Two, And Then Comes Night.

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