Souls Live On In Perpetual Echoes.

With Memory Set Smarting Like A Reopened Wound, A Man's Past Is Not Simply A Dead History, An Outworn Preparation Of The Present: It Is Not A Repented Error Shaken Loose From The Life: It Is A Still Quivering Part Of Himself, Bringing Shudders And Bitter Flavors And The Tinglings Of A Merited Shame.

Genius ... Is Necessarily Intolerant Of Fetters.

There Are Glances Of Hatred That Stab, And Raise No Cry Of Murder.

To Know Intense Joy Without A Strong Bodily Frame, One Must Have An Enthusiastic Soul.

We Want People To Feel With Us More Than To Act For Us.