Our Moods Do Not Believe In Each

Death Comes To All, But Great Achievements Build A Monument Which Shall Endure Until The Sun Grows Cold.

Our Globe Discovers Its Bidden Virtues, Not Only In Heroes And Arch-angels, But In Gossips And Nurses.

In The Woods We Return To Reason And Faith.

Good Manners Are Made Up Of Petty Sacrifices.

How Shall A Man Escape From His Ancestors, Or Draw Off From His Veins The Black Drop Which He Drew From His Father's Or Mother's Life?