"We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down..." — Henry Ward Beecher

Pride slays thanksgiving, but a humble mind is the soil out of which thanks naturally grow. A proud man is seldom a grateful man, for he never thinks he gets as much as he deserves.

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.

Laughter is day, and sobriety is night; a smile is the twilight that hovers gently between both, more bewitching than either.

Of all the music that reached farthest into heaven, it is the beating of a loving heart.