My Voice Is Still For War. Gods!

What Sunshine Is To Flowers, Smiles Are To Humanity. These Are But Trifles, To Be Sure; But Scattered Along Life's Pathway, The Good They Do Is Inconceivable.

The Woman That Deliberates Is Lost.

How Beautiful Is Death, When Earn'd By Virtue!

Men Who Cherish For Women The Highest Respect Are Seldom Popular With Them.

I Value My Garden More For Being Full Of Blackbirds Than Of Cherries, And Very Frankly Give Them Fruit For Their Songs.