There Is Something Great And Terrible About

All Poetry Like Every Work Of Art Proceeds From A Swift Vision Of Things.

The Habits Of Life Form The Soul, And The Soul Forms The Physical Presence.

Our Most Bitter Enemies Are Our Own Kith And Kin. Kings Have No Brothers, No Sons, No Mother!

Our Greatest Fears Lie In Anticipation.

It Is The Mark Of A Great Man That He Puts To Flight All Ordinary Calculations. He Is At Once Sublime And Touching, Childlike And Of The Race Of Giants.