The Love That You Withhold Is The

Character Is Always Known. Thefts Never Enrich; Alms Never Impoverish; Murder Will Speak Out Of Stone Walls.

Exaggeration Is In The Course Of Things. Nature Sends No Creature, No Man Into The World, Without Adding A Small Excess Of His Proper Quality. Given The Planet, It Is Still Necessary To Add The Impulse; So, To Every Creature Nature Added A Little Violence Of Direction In Its Proper Path, A Shove To Put It On Its Way; In Every Instance, A Slight Generosity, A Drop Too Much.

Who Is He That Shall Control Me? Why May Not I Act And Speak And Write And Think With Entire Freedom? What Am I To The Universe, Or, The Unvierse, What Is It To Me? Who Hath Forged The Chains Of Wrong And Right, Of Opinion And Custom? And Must I Wear Them?

The Men Who Carry Their Points Do Not Need To Inquire Of Their Constituents What They Should Say, But Are Themselves The Country Which They Represent: Nowhere Are Its Emotions Or Opinions So Instant And So True As In Them; Nowhere So Pure From A Selfish Infusion.

If We Shall Take The Good We Find, Asking No Questions, We Shall Have Heaping Measures.