Happiness Is Not Perfected Until It Is

The Fruition Of What Is Unlawful Must Be Followed By Remorse. The Core Sticks In The Throat After The Apple Is Eaten, And The Sated Appetite Loathes The Interdicted Pleasure For Which Innocence Was Bartered.

Bright Was The Summer Of 1296. The War Which Had Desolated Scotland Was Then At An End.

The Perfection Of Outward Loveliness Is The Soul Shining Through Its Crystalline Covering.

Imparting Knowledge Is Only Lighting Other Men's Candles At Our Lamp Without Depriving Ourselves Of Any Flame.

National Antipathy Is The Basest, Because The Most Illiberal And Illiterate Of All Prejudices.