Writing Is A Dreadful Labor, Yet Not

The First Duty Of Man Is That Of Subduing Fear.

The Deadliest Sin Were The Consciousness Of No Sin

Nature, After All, Is Still The Grand Agent In Making Poets.

All Sorts Of Heroes Are Intrinsically Of The Same Material; That Given A Great Soul, Open To The Divine Significance Of Life, Then There Is Given A Man Fit To Speak Of This, To Sing Of This, To Fight And Work For This, In A Great, Victorious, Enduring Manner; There Is Given A Hero, -- The Outward Shape Of Whom Will Depend On The Time And The Environment He Finds Himself In.

O Poor Mortals, How Ye Make This Earth Bitter For Each Other.