Hope Is A Memory That Desires, The

Journalism Is A Giant Catapult Set In Motion By Pigmy Hatreds.

The Events Of Human Life, Whether Public Or Private, Are So Intimately Linked To Architecture That Most Observers Can Reconstruct Nations Or Individuals In All The Truth Of Their Habits From The Remains Of Their Monuments Or From Their Domestic Relics.

He Hesitated Till The Last Moment, But Finally Dropped Them In The Box, Saying, "i Shall Win!"--the Cry Of A Gambler, The Cry Of The Great General, The Compulsive Cry That Has Ruined More Men Than It Has Ever Saved.

Does Not Any Limit Imposed Upon One Inspire A Desire To Go Beyond It? Does Not Our Keenest Suffering Arise When Our Free Will Is Crossed?

A Mother Who Is Really A Mother Is Never Free.