Time Flies Over Us, But

What Other Dungeon Is So Dark As One's Own Heart! What Jailer So Inexorable As One's Self!

The Thing You Set Your Mind On Is The Thing You Ultimately Become.

Would All, Who Cherish Such Wild Wishes, But Look Around Them, They Would Oftenest Find Their Sphere Of Duty, Of Prosperity, And Happiness, Within Those Precincts, And In That Station Where Providence Itself Has Cast Their Lot. Happy They Who Read The Riddle Without A Weary World-search, Or A Lifetime Spent In Vain!

A Grave, Wherever Found, Preaches A Short And Pithy Sermon To The Soul.

A Pure Hand Needs No Glove To Cover It.