When I Step Into The Batter's Box,

If Our Impulses Were Confined To Hunger, Thirst, And Desire, We Might Be Nearly Free; But Now We Are Moved By Every Wind That Blows And A Chance Word Or Scene That That Word May Convey To Us.

One Man's Life Or Death Were But A Small Price To Pay For The Acquirement Of The Knowledge Which I Sought

Polluted By Crimes, And Torn By The Bitterest Remorse, Where Can I Find Rest But In Death?

My Spirit Will Sleep In Peace; Or If It Thinks, It Will Not Surely Think Thus. Farewell.

Even Where The Affections Are Not Strongly Moved By Any Superior Excellence, The Companions Of Our Childhood Always Possess A Certain Power Over Our Minds Which Hardly Any Later Friend Can Obtain. They Know Our Infantine Dispositions, Which, However They May Be Afterwards Modified, Are Never Eradicated; And They Can Judge Of Our Actions With More Certain Conclusions As To The Integrity Of Our Motives.