His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern

My Gran'ther's Rule Was Safer 'n 't Is To Crow: Don't Never Prophesy - Onless Ye Know.

Tyrants Are But The Spawn Of Ignorance, Begotten By The Slaves They Trample On.

It Is Only The Intellect That Can Be Thoroughly And Hideously Wicked. It Can Forget Everything In The Attainment Of Its Ends. The Heart Recoils; In Its Retired Some Drops Of Childhood's Dew Still Linger, Defying Manhood's Fiery Noon.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.

Borrowed Garments Never Keep One Warm.