God Made The Rose Out Of What

Little Men Build Up Great Ones, But The Snow Colossus Soon Melts; The Good Stand Under The Eye Of God, And Therefore Stand.

States, Like Men, Have Their Growth, Their Manhood, Their Decrepitude, Their Decay.

Such Is Our Impatience, Such Our Hatred Of Procrastination, To Everything But The Amendment Of Our Practices And The Adornment Of Our Nature, One Would Imagine We Were Dragging Time Along By Force, And Not He Us.

Heat And Animosity, Contest And Conflict, May Sharpen The Wits, Although They Rarely Do; They Never Strengthen The Understanding, Clear The Perspicacity, Guide The Judgment, Or Improve The Heart.

Virtue Is Presupposed In Friendship.