A Man's Real Possession Is His Memory.

The Sun Was Down, And All The West Was Paved With Sullen Fire. I Cried, Behold! The Barren Beach Of Hell At Ebb Of Tide.

A Man Does Not Plant A Tree For Himself; He Plants It For Posterity.

Stirling, Like A Huge Brooch, Clasps Highlands And Lowlands Together.

The Only Thing A Man Knows Is Himself.

My Friend Is Not Perfect-no More Than I Am-and So We Suit Each Other Admirable.