One Can't Believe Impossible Things.

Fading, With The Night, The Memory Of A Dead Love, And The Withered Leaves Of A Blighted Hope, And The Sickly Repinings And Moody Regrets That Numb The Best Energies Of The Soul: And Rising, Broadening, Rolling Upward Like A Living Flood, The Manly Resolve, And The Dauntless Will, And The Heavenward Gaze Of Faith-the Substance Of Things Hoped For, The Evidence Of Things Not Seen!

It Is The Privilege Of True Genius, And Especially Genius Who Opens Up A New Path, To Make Great Mistakes With Impunity

I Have Seen So Many Extraordinary Things, Nothing Seems Extraordinary Any More

Be Sure The Safest Rule Is That We Should Not Dare To Live In Any Scene In Which We Dare Not Die. But, Once Realise What The True Object Is In Life — That It Is Not Pleasure, Not Knowledge, Not Even Fame Itself, 'that Last Infirmity Of Noble Minds' — But That It Is The Development Of Character, The Rising To A Higher, Nobler, Purer Standard, The Building-up Of The Perfect Man — And Then, So Long As We Feel That This Is Going On, And Will (we Trust) Go On For Evermore, Death Has For Us No Terror; It Is Not A Shadow, But A Light; Not An End, But A Beginning!

Yet What Are All Such Gaieties To Me Whose Thoughts Are Full Of Indices And Surds?