Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

The victory of endurance born.

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices t…

Truth has not special time of its own. Its hour is now - always and indeed then most truly when it seems unsuitable to actual circumstances.

If somebody believes that the world is only (...) a few thousand years old, when the true age of the Earth is of the order of a few billion years old, that mea…

It is terrible to destroy a person's picture of himself in the interests of truth or some other abstraction.