Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its

To Have To Die Is A Distinction Of Which No Man Is Proud.

Most Brilliant Star Upon The Crest Of Time Is England. England!

Death Is The Ugly Fact Which Nature Has To Hide, And She Hides It Well.

Looking Forward Into An Empty Year Strikes One With A Certain Awe, Because One Finds Therein No Recognition. The Years Behind Have A Friendly Aspect, And They Are Warmed By The Fires We Have Kindled, And All Their Echoes Are The Echoes Of Our Own Voices.

A Man Can Bear A World's Contempt When He Has That Within Which Says He's Worthy. When He Contemns Himself, There Burns The Hell.