It Is Not Flesh And Blood, But

There Is No Solitude In Nature.

Man, Living, Feeling Man, Is The Easy Sport Of The Over-mastering Present.

Who Dares Nothing, Need Hope For Nothing.

As Freely As The Firmament Embraces The World, Or The Sun Pours Forth Impartially His Beams, So Mercy Must Encircle Both Friend And Foe.

Rigor Pushed Too Far Is Sure To Miss Its Aim, However Good, As The Bow Snaps That Is Bent Too Stiffly.