One Would Like To Know, What Were

One Would Like To Know, What Were Foes Made For Except To Be Used?

Failure Is The Test Of Greatness.

In A Multitude Of Acquaintances Is Less Security, Than In One Faithful Friend.

True Places Are Not Found On Maps.

Passion, And Passion In Its Profoundest, Is Not A Thing Demanding A Palatial Stage Whereon To Play Its Part. Down Among The Groundlings, Among The Beggars And Rakers Of The Garbage, Profound Passion Is Enacted. And The Circumstances That Provoke It, However Trivial Or Mean, Are No Measure Of Its Power. In The Present Instance The Stage Is A Scrubbed Gun Deck, And One Of The External Provocations A Man-of-war's-man's Spilled Soup.