Death Was The Price Of

The Perpetual Stream Of Human Nature Is Formed Into Ever-changing Shallows, Eddies, Falls And Pools By The Land Over Which It Passes. Perhaps The Only Real Value Of History Lies In Considering This Endlessly Varied Play Between The Essence And The Accidents.

In All Men Is Evil Sleeping; The Good Man Is He Who Will Not Awaken It, In Himself Or In Other Men.

But Courage Without Conduct Is The Virtue Of A Robber, Or A Tyrant.

One Might Have Supposed That The True Act Of Love Was To Lie Together And Talk.

I Was A King And A King's Heir And Now I Am A Slave.