The Dagger Plunged In The

Man Is A Living Duty, A Depository Of Powers That He Must Not Leave In A Brute State. Man Is A Wing.

The First Duty Of A Man Is To Think For Himself

I Know That When The World Surrenders, Pallid, To Repose, The Murmur Of A Tranquil Stream Through The Deep Silence Flows.

Man Has To Suffer. When He Has No Real Afflictions, He Invents Some.

Oh, What Company Good Poets Are!