A Stray Hair, By Its Continued Irritation,

In The Ocean Of Baseness, The Deeper We Get, The Easier The Sinking.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change; Then Let It Come: I Have No Dread Of What Is Called For By The Instinct Of Mankind. Nor Think I That God's World Would Fall Apart Because We Tear A Parchment More Or Less. Truth Is Eternal, But Her Effluence, With Endless Change, Is Fitted To The Hour; Her Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past. I Do Not Fear To Follow Out The Truth.

Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past.

Life Is The Jailer, Death The Angel Sent To Draw The Unwilling Bolts And Set Us Free.

Great Truths Are Portions Of The Soul Of Man; Great Souls Are Portions Of Eternity.