And So, Being In Heaven, It Was

To Die Is Nothing; But It Is Terrible Not To Live.

One Of The Hardest Labours Of The Just Man Is To Expunge From His Soul A Malevolence Which It Is Difficult To Efface.

In Joined Hands There Is Still Some Token Of Hope, In The Clenched Fist None.

There Is Will In The Thought, There Is None In The Dream. The Dream, Which Is Completely Spontaneous, Takes And Keeps, Even In The Gigantic And The Ideal, The Form Of Our Mind. Nothing Springs More Directly And More Sincerely From The Very Bottom Of Our Souls Than Our Unreflected And Indefinite Aspirations Towards The Splendours Of Destiny.

A Woman's Best Qualities Are Harmful If Undiluted With Prudence.