Ease Up, The Play Is Over.

Great Grief Makes Sacred Those Upon Whom Its Hand Is Laid. Joy May Elevate, Ambition Glorify, But Sorrow Alone Can Consecrate.

Go West, Young Man, Go West And Grow Up With The Country.

No Amount Of Preaching, Exhortation, Sympathy, Benevolence, Will Render The Condition Of Our Working Women What It Should Be, So Long As The Kitchen And Needle Are Substantially Their Only Resources.

The Illusion That Times That Were Are Better Than Those That Are, Has Probably Pervaded All Ages.

The Best Style Of Writing, As Well As The Most Forcible, Is The Plainest.