Silence Is Sorrow's Best Food.

The Holy Supper Is Kept, Indeed, In Whatso We Share With Anothers Need; Not What We Give, But What We Share, For The Gift Without The Giver Is Bare; Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor, And Me.

And What They Dare To Dream Of, Date To Do.

One Thorn Of Experience Is Worth A Whole Wilderness Of Warning.

All The Beautiful Sentiments In The World Weigh Less Than A Single Lovely Action.

For There's Nothing We Read Of In Torture's Inventions, Like A Well-meaning Dunce, With The Best Of Intentions.