The Question Is Whether [suicide] Is The

Every Promise Of The Soul Has Innumerable Fulfillments; Each Of Its Joys Ripens Into A New Want.

Heaven Walks Among Us Ordinarily Muffled In Such Triple Or Tenfold Disguises That The Wisest Are Deceived And No One Suspects The Days To Be Gods.

Too Busy With The Crowded Hour To Fear To Live Or Die.

Trust Your Instinct To The End, Though You Can Render No Reason.

The Simplest Words,--we Do Not Know What They Mean Except When We Love And Aspire.