Stirling, Like A Huge Brooch, Clasps Highlands

The Only Thing A Man Knows Is Himself.

A Single Soul Is Richer Than All The Worlds.

The Man Who In This World Can Keep The Whiteness Of His Soul Is Not Likely To Lose It In Any Other.

In Winter, When The Dismal Rain Comes Down In Slanting Lines, And Wind, That Grand Old Harper, Smote His Thunder-harp Of Pines.

Pleasure Has No Logic; It Never Treads In Its Own Footsteps.