Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of

He Who Has Gone, So We But Cherish His Memory, Abides With Us, More Potent, Nay, More Present Than The Living Man.

Nothing Can Match The Treasure Of Common Memories.

Grown-ups Never Understand Anything For Themselves, And It Is Tiresome For Children To Be Always And Forever Explaining Things To Them.

One Can Be A Brother Only In Something. Where There Is No Tie That Binds Men, Men Are Not United But Merely Lined Up.

Perfection Is Attained, Not When No More Can Be Added, But When No More Can Be Removed.