Your Messages I Hear, But Faith Has

Woe To Falsehood! It Affords No Relief To The Breast, Like Truth; It Gives Us No Comfort, Pains Him Who Forges It, And Like An Arrow Directed By A God Flies Back And Wounds The Archer.

I Wish The Stage Were As Narrow As The Wire Of A Tighrope Dancer So That No Incompetent Would Dare Step Upon It.

For Just When Ideas Fail, A Word Comes In To Save The Situation.

The Coward Only Threatens When He Is Safe.

It Is The Strange Fate Of Man, That Even In The Greatest Of Evils The Fear Of The Worst Continues To Haunt Him.