A Magistrate Is Not A

My Star Was Fading, I Felt The Reins Slipping Out Of My Grasp, And Could Do Nothing To Stop It.

The Human Race Is Governed By Its Imagination.

The Fate Of A Battle Is The Result Of A Moment, Of A Thought: The Hostile Forces Advance With Various Combinations, They Attack Each Other And Fight For A Certain Time; The Critical Moment Arrives, A Mental Flash Decides, And The Least Reserve Accomplishes The Object.

The People To Fear Are Not Those Who Disagree With You, But Those Who Disagree With You And Are Too Cowardly To Let You Know.

This Soldier, I Realized, Must Have Had Friends At Home And In His Regiment; Yet He Lay There Deserted By All Except His Dog. I Looked On, Unmoved, At Battles Which Decided The Future Of Nations. Tearless, I Had Given Orders Which Brought Death To Thousands. Yet Here I Was Stirred, Profoundly Stirred, Stirred To Tears. And By What? By The Grief Of One Dog. Napoleon Bonaparte, On Finding A Dog Beside The Body Of His Dead Master, Licking His Face And Howling, On A Moonlit Field After A Battle. Napoleon Was Haunted By This Scene Until His Own Death.