There Is Nothing Like Wounded

That Kind Of Patriotism Which Consists In Hating All Other Nations.

A Solitary Life Cherishes Mere Fancies Until They Become Manias.

She Would Fain Have Caught At The Skirts Of That Departing Time, And Prayed It To Return, And Give Her Back What She Had Too Little Valued While It Was Yet In Her Possession. What A Vain Show Life Seemed! How Unsubstantial, And Flickering, And Flitting! It Was As If From Some Aerial Belfry, High Up Above The Stir And Jar Of The Earth, There Was A Bell Continually Tolling, ‘all Are Shadows!—all Are Passing!—all Is Past!

Loyalty And Obedience To Wisdom And Justice Are Fine; But It Is Still Finer To Defy Arbitrary Power, Unjustly And Cruelly Used--not On Behalf Of Ourselves, But On Behalf Of Others More Helpless.

But The Monotonous Life Led By Invalids Often Makes Them Like Children, Inasmuch As Thy Have Neither Of Them Any Sense Of Proportion In Events, And Seem Each To Believe That The Walls And Curtains Which Shut In Their World, And Shut Out Everything Else, Must Of Necessity Be Larger Than Anything Hidden Beyond.