Truth is as impossible to be soiled by any outward touch as the sunbeam

Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies

There is no truth sure enough to justify persecution

Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her Eye, In every gesture dignity and love

Wash your soiled linen in private

When all possibilities have been tried and no answer found then that which is the impossible must be the truth. Impossible is truth. By Sandra K. Mehringer (My mother) April 17 2010