Solitude Is The Audience-chamber Of God.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

Falsehood Is For A Season.

Life And Death Appear More Certainly Ours Than Whatsoever Else; And Yet Hardly Can That Be Called Ours, Which Comes Without Our Knowledge, And Goes Without It.

We Cannot Conquer Fate And Necessity, Yet We Can Yield To Them In Such A Manner As To Be Greater Than If We Could.

Greatness, As We Daily See It, Is Unsociable.