I Have Not Loved The World, Nor

Be Hypocritical, Be Cautious, Be Not What You Seem But Always What You See.

Death, So Called, Is A Thing Which Makes Men Weep, And Yet A Third Of Life Is Passed In Sleep.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

I Loved My Country, And I Hated Him.

Ada! Sole Daughter Of My House And Heart.