It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.

For what can war, but endless war, still breed?

But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears.

Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.

A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit.