''The grace of God,'' says Luther, ''is like a flying summer shower.'' It has fallen upon more than one land, and passed on. Judea had it, and lies barren and dry. These Asiatic coasts had it, and flung it away.

In the religious life it is possible to commit an analogous error, and to prize so unwisely peaceful hours of communion, as to waive imperative duty for the sake of them; like Peter with his "Let us make here three tabernacles," while there were devil-ridden sufferers waiting to be healed down on the plain. Moments of devotion, which do not prepare for hours of practical righteousness, are very untrustworthy. But, on the other hand, the paths of righteousness will not be trodden by those who have known nothing of the green pastures and waters where the wearied can rest.

Jesse Owens glides over the track with the grace of a streamlined express flying over the open prairie.

All I want is for Flying Feather Farm to be able to farm their land. Compliance -- that's all we want.

If you would win the world, melt it, do not hammer it.

Death is but a passage. It is not a house, it is only a vestibule. The grave has a door on its inner side.