To Sit For One's Portrait Is Like

Most Brilliant Star Upon The Crest Of Time Is England. England!

A Man Can Bear A World's Contempt When He Has That Within Which Says He's Worthy. When He Contemns Himself, There Burns The Hell.

The Globe Has Been Circumnavigated, But No Man Ever Yet Has; You May Survey A Kingdom And Note The Result In Maps, But All The Savants In The World Could Not Produce A Reliable Map Of The Poorest Human Personality.

Everything Is Sweetened By Risk.

There Is A Certain Even-handed Justice In Time; And For What He Takes Away He Gives Us Something In Return. He Robs Us Of Elasticity Of Limb And Spirit, And In Its Place He Brings Tranquility And Repose—the Mild Autumnal Weather Of The Soul.