How In The Turmoil Of Life Can

Labor With What Zeal We Will, Something Still Remains Undone, Something Uncompleted Still Waits The Rising Of The Sun.

He That Respects Himself Is Safe From Others. He Wears A Coat Of Mail That None Can Pierce.

More And More Do I Feel, As I Advance In Life, How Little We Really Know Of Each Other. Friendship Seems To Me Like The Touch Of Musical-glasses--it Is Only Contact; But The Glasses Themselves, And Their Contents, Remain Quite Distinct And Unmingled.

Three Silences There Are: The First Of Speech, The Second Of Desire, The Third Of Thought.

Talk Not Of Wasted Affection - Affection Never Was Wasted.