In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
If we could read the secret history of our enemies.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving.