Winter Is On My Head, But Eternal

The Man Who Fights Against His Own Country Is Never A Hero.

Idleness, Pleasure, What Abysses! To Do Nothing Is A Dreary Course To Take, Be Sure Of It. To Live Idle Upon The Substance Of Society! To Be Useless, That Is To Say, Noxious! This Leads Straight To The Lowest Depth Of Misery.

His Universal Compassion Was Due Less To Natural Instinct, Than To A Profound Conviction, A Sum Of Thoughts That In The Course Of Living Had Filtered Through To His Heart: For In The Nature Of Man, As In Rock, There May Be Channels Hollowed By The Dropping Of Water, And These Can Never Be Destroyed.

Work, Which Makes A Man Free, And Thought, Which Makes Him Worthy Of Freedom.

Oh! Everything I Loved!