Sleep, Those Little Slices Of Death —

It Is The Nature Of Truth In General, As Of Some Ores In Particular, To Be Richest When Most Superficial.

No Thinking Being Lives Who, At Some Luminous Point Of His Life Of Thought, Has Not Felt Himself Lost Amid The Surges Of Futile Efforts At Understanding, Or Believing, That Anything Exists Greater Than His Own Soul.

How Much More Intense Is The Excitement Wrought In The Feelings Of A Crowd By The Contemplation Of Human Agony, Than That Brought About By The Most Appalling Spectacles Of Inanimate Matter.

Mournful And Never-ending Remembrance.

I Have, Indeed, No Abhorrence Of Danger, Except In Its Absolute Effect - In Terror.