Virginity Is The Poetry, Not The Reality,

Man, Man, Is Thy Brother, And Thy Father Is God.

God Has Placed The Genius Of Women In Their Hearts, Because The Works Of This Genius Are Always Works Of Love.

There Are Places And Climates, Seasons And Hours, With Their Outward Circumstance, So Much In Harmony With Certain Impressions Of The Heart, That Nature And The Soul Of Man Appear To Be Parts Of One Vast Whole.

Ink Is The Transcript Of Thought.

Every Time That A People Which Has Long Crouched In Slavery And Ignorance Is Moved To Its Lowest Depths There Appear Monsters And Heroes, Prodigies Of Crime And Prodigies Of Virtue.