Death Hath So Many Doors To Let

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

The Coward's Weapon, Poison.

Ask How To Live? Write, Write, Write, Anything; The World's A Fine Believing World, Write News.

Tyranny Is Yielding To The Lust Of The Governing.

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.