Out of the loins of pride and avarice comes the innocent child. Why is this? It cannot be chance. It means something. When we discover what that something is we shall remain innocent. * * * * * Greed grasps while poverty gasps. * * * * * The agony of despair breeds the monster, 'Human Hate.' * * * * * The man who refuses to lend to the Lord distrusts the security. * * * * * The blood of the pauper shall smear the couch of the indolent. * * * * * The sweat of the poor, frozen into gold, gilds the rich man's purse. * * * * * The time must come when the dragon's teeth, sown by the rich, will bring forth a harvest of cold steel. * * * * * Mother in the kitchen at the wash tub. Daughter in the parlor at the piano. Quite proper; its a case of rub-a-dub-dub. * * * * * Why came we here? By blind chance or design? The books are full of guesses, half-truths and lies. We only know that we are here. From whence we came and whither we go is the problem. Being here, our highest endeavors should be to do some little good. Then close our eyes and wait for the answer. We can find it in no other way. * * * * * Man and misery are not twins but father and son. * * * * * The woman to whom temptation never came cannot be said to be virtuous. * * * * * The blast of the golden bugle shall not always drown the wail of the poor. * * * * * When faults lie thick and die, the crop of good deeds to follow will be the greater. * * * * * A priest at ten thousand a year is a monument erected over the grave of Christianity. * * * * * The cry of the child for bread reaches further into the universe than peans sung to kings. * * * * * When Eve was created nature must have cried 'no,' for ever since woman has continued to repeat the word. * * * * * The rich go about the world on stilts, lest the poor should touch the hems of their garments. They are so so high in the air that they gather no perfume from the wild flowers blooming by the wayside. * * * * * The hand of Justice has lost its thumb and forefinger. * * * * * Vulgar speech is a drop of filth from a rotten heart. * * * * * A fly never sees the window pane until his bruised nose bleeds. * * * * * The greatest kindness is that which we are not compelled to remember. * * * * *