Death Is A Mighty, Universal Truth.

Whatever I Have Tried To Do In Life, I Have Tried With All My Heart To Do It Well; Whatever I Have Devoted Myself To, I Have Devoted Myself Completely; In Great Aims And In Small I Have Always Thoroughly Been In Earnest.

Mr. Tulkinghorn, Sitting In The Twilight By The Open Window, Enjoys His Wine. As If It Whispered To Him Of Its Fifty Years Of Silence And Seclusion, It Shuts Him Up The Closer. More Impenetrable Than Ever, He Sits, And Drinks, And Mellows As It Were In Secrecy, Pondering At That Twilight Hour On All The Mysteries He Knows.

Our Affections, However Laudable, In This Transitory World, Should Never Master Us; We Should Guide Them, Guide Them.

That Sort Of Half Sigh, Which, Accompanied By Two Or Three Slight Nods Of The Head, Is Pity's Small Change In General Society.

Thus Violent Deeds Live After Men Upon The Earth, And Traces Of War And Bloodshed Will Survive In Mournful Shapes Long After Those Who Worked The Desolation Are But Atoms Of Earth Themselves.