Men Are Misers, And Women Prodigal, In

There Is No Man More Complete Than The One Who Travelled A Lot, Who Changed The Shape Of His Thoughts And His Life Twenty Times.

Shall Not This Bygone Eden That We Knew In Our Eternal Life Have Shape And Hue? For Where Time Is Not Shall Not All Time Be? In That Calm Breast Whereto Our Souls Are Cleaving Shall We Not Find Our Loved Ones Beyond Grieving About The Hearth-stone Of Eternity?

Assassination Makes Only Martyrs, Not Converts.

It Is For Truth That God Created Genius.

Love Is The Enchanted Dawn Of Every Heart.