Life Is A Sheet Of Paper White

Most Long Lives Resemble Those Threads Of Gossamer, The Nearest Approach To Nothing Unmeaningly Prolonged, Scarce Visible Pathways Of Some Worm From His Cradle To His Grave.

Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God With The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

Large Charity Doth Never Soil, But Only Whitens Soft White Hands.

Praise Follows Truth Afar Off, And Only Overtakes Her At The Grave; Plausibility Clings To Her Skirts And Holds Her Back Till Then

It Is Not The Insurrections Of Ignorance That Are Dangerous, But The Revolts Of The Intelligence.