There Might Be Some Credit In Being

I Went Away, Dear Agnes, Loving You. I Stayed Away, Loving You. I Returned Home, Loving You!

The Aphorism "whatever Is, Is Right," Would Be As Final As It Is Lazy, Did It Not Include The Troublesome Consequence That Nothing That Ever Was, Was Wrong.

I Love Your Daughter Fondly, Dearly, Disinterestedly, Devotedly. If Ever There Were Love In The World, I Love Her.

His Gaze Wandered From The Windows To The Stars, As If He Would Have Read In Them Something That Was Hidden From Him. Many Of Us Would, If We Could; But None Of Us So Much As Know Our Letters In The Stars Yet - Or Seem Likely To Do It, In This State Of Existence - And Few Languages Can Be Read Until Their Alphabets Are Mastered.

'i Believe, Mr. Snitchey,' Said Alfred, 'there Are Quiet Victories And Struggles, Great Sacrifices Of Self, And Noble Acts Of Heroism, In It - Even In Many Of Its Apparent Lightnesses And Contradictions - Not The Less Difficult To Achieve, Because They Have No Earthly Chronicle Or Audience - Done Every Day In Nooks And Corners, And In Little Households, And In Men's And Women's Hearts - Any One Of Which Might Reconcile The Sternest Man To Such A World, And Fill Him With Belief And Hope In It.