Let Us Love The Passing Hour, Let

What Is Our Life But A Succession Of Preludes To That Unknown Song Whose First Solemn Note Is Sounded By Death?

Sentiment Is The Poetry Of The Imagination.

Silence,--the Applause Of Real And Durable Impressions.

Fiction Is The Microscope Of Truth.

Chance Often Gives Us That Which We Should Not Have Presumed To Ask.