History Is A Cyclic Poem Written By

Strange Thoughts Beget Strange Deeds.

Poetry Is A Mirror Which Makes Beautiful That Which Is Distorted.

Every Fanatic Or Enemy Of Virtue Is Not At Liberty To Misrepresent The Greatest Geniuses And Most Heroic Defenders Of All That Is Valuable In This Mortal World.

The Desire Of The Moth For The Star, Of The Night For The Morrow, The Devotion To Something Afar From The Sphere Of Our Sorrow.

A System Could Not Well Have Been Devised More Studiously Hostile To Human Happiness Than Marriage.