I Was Born A Scotsman And A

Breathes There The Man With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land.

Methinks I Will Not Die Quite Happy Without Having Seen Something Of That Rome Of Which I Have Read So Much.

Guilt, Though It May Attain Temporal Splendor, Can Never Confer Real Happiness; The Evil Consequences Of Our Crimes Long Survive Their Commission, And, Like The Ghosts Of The Murdered, Forever Haunt The Steps Of The Malefactor; While The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those Of Worldly Greatness, Are Always Those Of Pleasantness And Peace.

For Love Is Heaven And Heaven Is Love.

We Shall Never Learn To Feel And Respect Our Real Calling And Destiny, Unless We Have Taught Ourselves To Consider Every Thing As Moonshine, Compared With The Education Of The Heart.