The Thing I Fear Most Is Fear.

For Truth Itself Has Not The Privilege To Be Spoken At All Times And In All Sorts.

There Is No Pleasure To Me Without Communication: There Is Not So Much As A Sprightly Thought Comes Into My Mind That It Does Not Grieve Me To Have Produced Alone, And That I Have No One To Tell It To.

It Makes Me Hate Accepting Things That Are Probable When They Are Held Up Before Me As Infallibly True. I Prefer These Words Which Tone Down And Modify The Hastiness Of Our Propositions: "perhaps, In Some Sort, Some, They Say, I Think," And The Like.

What Of A Truth That Is Bounded By These Mountains And Is Falsehood To The World That Lives Beyond?

There Are Some Defeats More Triumphant Than Victories.