I Love All Waste And Solitary Places.

Nothing Wilts Faster Than Laurels That Have Been Rested Upon.

I Know The Cause Of All Human Disappointment -- Worldly Prejudice.

Thy Words Are Like A Cloud Of Winged Snakes.

A Man, To Be Greatly Good, Must Imagine Intensely And Comprehensively; He Must Put Himself In The Place Of Another And Of Many Others; The Pains And Pleasures Of His Species Must Become His Own.

The Flood Of Time Is Rolling On; We Stand Upon Its Brink, Whilst They Are Gone To Glide In Peace Down Death's Mysterious Stream. Have Ye Done Well?