A Nation Never Falls But By Suicide.

But Speak The Truth, And All Nature And All Spirits Help You With Unexpected Furtherance. Speak The Truth, And All Things Alive Orbrute Are Vouchers, And The Very Roots Of The Grass Underground There Do Seem To Stir And Move To Bear You Witness.

The Indian Who Was Laid Under A Curse, That The Wind Should Not Blow On Him, Nor Water Flow To Him, Nor Fire Burn Him, Is A Type Of Us All. The Dearest Events Are Summer-rain, And We The Para Coats That Shed Every Drop. Nothing Is Left Us Now But Death. We Look To That With A Grim Satisfaction, Saying, There At Least Is Reality That Will Not Dodge Us.

It Is Easy In The World To Live After The World's Opinion; It Is Easy In Solitude To Live After Our Own; But The Great Man Is He Who In The Midst Of The Crowd Keeps With Perfect Sweetness The Independence Of Solitude.

Is The Parent Better Than The Child Into Whom He Has Cast His Ripened Being? Whence, Then, This Worship Of The Past?

It Is A Capital Blunder; As You Discover, When Another Man Recites His Charities.