Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom can be no variation, neither shadow that is cast by turning.

What doth it profit, my brethren, if a man say he hath faith, but have not works? can that faith save him?

But the tongue can no man tame; it is a restless evil, it is full of deadly poison.

Can a fig tree, my brethren, yield olives, or a vine figs? Neither can'salt water yield sweet.

Come now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into this city, and spend a year there, and trade, and get gain: