Our Worst Misfortunes Never Happen, And Most

Glory Is The Sunshine Of The Dead

Everything Becomes Agitated. Ideas Quick-march Into Motion Like Battalions Of A Grand Army To Its Legendary Fighting Ground, And The Battle Rages. Memories Charge In, Bright Flags On High; The Cavalry Of Metaphor Deploys With A Magnificent Gallop; The Artillery Of Logic Rushes Up With Clattering Wagons And Cartridges; On Imagination's Orders, Sharpshooters Sight And Fire; Forms And Shapes And Characters Rear Up; The Paper Is Spread With Ink - For The Nightly Labor Begins And Ends With Torrents Of This Black Water, As A Battle Opens And Concludes With Black Powder.

On The Moral Plane, True Friends Enjoy The Same Protection As The Sense Of Smell Confers Upon Dogs. They Scent The Sorrow Of Their Friends, They Divine Its Causes, And They Clasp It To Their Minds And Hearts.

Our Most Bitter Enemies Are Our Own Kith And Kin. Kings Have No Brothers, No Sons, No Mother!

Wisdom Is That Apprehension Of Heavenly Things To Which The Spirit Rises Through Love.