If We Could Read The Secret History

Mercy More Becomes A Magistrate Than The Vindictive Wrath Which Men Call Justice.

Youth Comes But Once A Life Time. Perhaps, But It Remains Strong In Many For Their Entire Lives.

Ne Speaketh Not; And Yet There Lies A Conversation In His Eyes.

So Nature Deals With Us, And Takes Away Our Playthings One By One, And By The Hand Leads Us To Rest.

I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism Than Of Receiving It. I Stand In Awe Of My Own Opinion. The Secret Demerits Of Which We Alone, Perhaps, Are Conscious, Are Often More Difficult To Bear Than Those Which Have Been Publicly Censured In Us, And Thus In Some Degree Atoned For.