The Impartiality Of History Is Not That

Joy Is A Flame Which Association Alone Can Keep Alive, And Which Goes Out Unless Communicated.

Man, It Seems, Is Not Able To Bear The Languid Rest On Nature's Bosom, And When The Trumpet Sounds The Signal Of Danger, He Hastens To Join His Comrades, No Matter What The Cause That Calls Him To Arms. He Rushes Into The Thickest Of The Fight, And Amid The Uproar Of The Battle Regains Confidence In Himself And His Powers.

Poetry Is The Morning Dream Of Great Minds.

It Is Admirable To Die The Victim Of One's Faith; It Is Sad To Die The Dupe Of One's Ambition.

Limited In His Nature, Infinite In His Desires, Man Is A Fallen God Who Remembers The Heavens.