A Pure Hand Needs No Glove To

Sleeping Or Waking, We Hear Not The Airy Footsteps Of The Strange Things That Almost Happen.

What Other Dungeon Is So Dark As One's Own Heart! What Jailer So Inexorable As One's Self!

Shall We Never Never Get Rid Of This Past? ... It Lies Upon The Present Like A Giant's Dead Body.

Happiness In This World, When It Comes, Comes Incidentally. Make It The Object Of Pursuit, And It Leads Us A Wild-goose Chase, And Is Never Attained. Follow Some Other Object, And Very Possibly We May Find That We Have Caught Happiness Without Dreaming Of It.

A Hero Cannot Be A Hero Unless In A Heroic World.