When A Man Is Out Of Sight,

Thought Is The Labor Of The Intellect, Reverie Is Its Pleasure.

Joy Is The Reflex Of Terror.

Those Who Live Are Those Who Fight.

There Is Will In The Thought, There Is None In The Dream. The Dream, Which Is Completely Spontaneous, Takes And Keeps, Even In The Gigantic And The Ideal, The Form Of Our Mind. Nothing Springs More Directly And More Sincerely From The Very Bottom Of Our Souls Than Our Unreflected And Indefinite Aspirations Towards The Splendours Of Destiny.

Curiosity Is One Of The Forms Of Feminine Bravery.