Silence Is Sorrow's Best Food.

Here Was A Type Of The True Elder Race, And One Of Plutarch's Men Talked With Us Face To Face.

If We See Light At The End Of The Tunnel, It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

Keats Longed For Fame, But Longed Above All To Deserve It.

A Ginooine Statesman Should Be On His Guard, If He Must Hev Beliefs, Not To B'lieve 'em Too Hard.

The Future Works Out Great Men's Destinies; The Present Is Enough For Common Souls, Who, Never Looking Forward, Are Indeed Mere Clay Wherein The Footprints Of Their Age Are Petrified Forever.