At The Point When Affection Is Not

All Must Yield To The Weight Of Years; Conquest Is Not Difficult For Time.

And Yet, And Yet, In These Our Ghostly Lives, Half Night, Half Day, Half Sleeping, Half Awake, How If Our Waking Life, Like That Of Sleep, Be All A Dream In That Eternal Life To Which We Wake Not Till We Sleep In Death

Dreams Are Rough Copies Of The Waking Soul Yet Uncorrected Of The Higher Will, So That Men Sometimes In Their Dreams Confess An Unsuspected, Or Forgotten, Self; -since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, Are Akin In Missing Each That Salutory Rein Of Reason, And The Grinding Will Of Man.

Grief Has Been Compared To A Hydra; For Every One That Dies, Two Are Born.

No Virtue Can Be Real That Has Not Been Tried. The Gold In The Crucible Alone Is Perfect; The Loadstone Tests The Steel, And The Diamond Is Tried By The Diamond, While Metals Gleam The Brighter In The Furnace.