We Cannot Confront Solitude Without Moral Resources.

This Surface Good-nature Which Captivates A New Acquaintance And Is No Bar To Treachery, Which Knows No Scruple And Is Never At Fault For An Excuse, Which Makes An Outcry At The Wound Which It Condones, Is One Of The Most Distinctive Features Of The Journalist. This Camaraderie (the Word Is A Stroke Of Genius) Corrodes The Noblest Minds; It Eats Into Their Pride Like Rust, Kills The Germ Of Great Deeds, And Lends A Sanction To Moral Cowardice.

Physically, A Man Is A Man For A Much Longer Time Than A Woman Is A Woman.

Nos Beaux Sentiments Ne Sont-ils Pas Les Poe Sies De La Volonte ? Aren't Our Best Feelings Poetry Of The Will?

Conscience Is Our Unerring Judge Until We Finally Stifle It.

A Grass Blade Believes That Men Build Palaces For It To Grow In. Grass Wedges Its Way Between The Closest Blocks Of Marble And It Brings Them Down. This Power Of Feeble Life Which Can Creep In Anywhere Is Greater Than That Of The Mighty Behind Their Cannons.