Time Is A Great Ocean Which, Like

After His Blood, That Which A Man Can Next Give Out Of Himself Is A Tear.

The Impartiality Of History Is Not That Of The Mirror, Which Merely Reflects Objects, But Of The Judge, Who Sees, Listens, And Decides.

Limited In His Nature, Infinite In His Desires, Man Is A Fallen God Who Remembers The Heavens.

Eternity Is So Certain And So Terrible That A Thousand Lives Would Not Suffice To Prepare For It.

Sentiment Is The Poetry Of The Imagination.