Naught But God Can Satisfy The Soul.

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.

Night Comes, World-jewelled, . . . The Stars Rush Forth In Myriads As To Wage War With The Lines Of Darkness; And The Moon, Pale Ghost Of Night, Comes Haunting The Cold Earth After The Sun's Red Sea-death--quietless.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Figures On A Dial. We Should Count Time By Heart Throbs. He Most Lives Who Thinks Most, Feels The Noblest, Acts The Best.

It Matters Not How Long We Live But How.

The Strongest Passion Which I Have Is Honor.