Sorrow And Silence Are Strong, And Patient

Evil Is Only Good Perverted.

That Which The Fountain Sends Forth Returns Again To The Fountain.

Midnight! The Outpost Of Advancing Day! The Frontier Town And Citadel Of Night!

O Weary Hearts! O Slumbering Eyes! O Drooping Souls, Whose Destinies Are Fraught With Fear And Pain, Ye Shall Be Loved Again.

I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism Than Of Receiving It. I Stand In Awe Of My Own Opinion. The Secret Demerits Of Which We Alone, Perhaps, Are Conscious, Are Often More Difficult To Bear Than Those Which Have Been Publicly Censured In Us, And Thus In Some Degree Atoned For.