Life Is One, Religion One, Creeds Are

Friends Are The Leaders Of The Bosom, Being More Ourselves Than We Are, And We Complement Our Affections In Theirs.

Civilization Degrades Many In Order To Exalt The Few.

Memory Marks The Horizon Of Our Consciousness, Imagination Its Zenith.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Books Are The Most Mannerly Of Companions, Accessible At All Times, In All Moods, Frankly Declaring The Author's Mind, Without Offense.