With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.

Mysterious haunts of echoes old and far, The voice divine of human loyalty.

... it is one thing to like defiance, and another thing to like its consequences.

It's well known there's always two sides, if no more.

Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her hand.

... we are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong.

The select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest.