Every Shot That Kills Ricochets.

Love Knows Not Distance; It Hath No Continent; Its Eyes Are For The Stars, Its Feet For The Swords; It Continueth, Though An Army Lay Waste The Pasture; It Comforteth When There Are No Medicines; It Hath The Relish Of Manna; And By It Do Men Live In The Desert.

Every Shot That Kills Ricochets.

There Is No Influence Like The Influence Of Habit.

Imagination Is At The Root Of Much That Passes For Love.

In All Secrets There Is A Kind Of Guilt, However Beautiful Or Joyful They May Be, Or For What Good End They May Be Set To Serve. Secrecy Means Evasion, And Evasion Means A Problem To The Moral Mind.