If We Cannot Write With

If There Is Anyone Here Whom I Have Not Insulted, I Beg His Pardon.

The Only True Immortality Lies In One's Children.

The Idea Comes To Me From Outside Of Me - And Is Like A Gift. I Then Take The Idea And Make It My Own - That Is Where The Skill Lies.

What Would Become Of All Historical Biography If It Was Written Only With Consideration For Other Peoples' Feelings?

In Him Converge All Previous Streams Of Tendency, Not As Into A Pool, Stagnant, Passive, Motionless, But As A Noble River That Received Its Tributary Waters And Bearss Them Onward In Larger And Statelier Volume.