But It Is Not For The Perfect

By Her Shining And Her Power He Knew Her.

The Perpetual Stream Of Human Nature Is Formed Into Ever-changing Shallows, Eddies, Falls And Pools By The Land Over Which It Passes. Perhaps The Only Real Value Of History Lies In Considering This Endlessly Varied Play Between The Essence And The Accidents.

But Courage Without Conduct Is The Virtue Of A Robber, Or A Tyrant.

He Sees Himself In His Lover As If In A Mirror, Not Knowing Whom He Sees, And When They Are Together, He Too Is Released From Pain, And When Apart, He Longs As He Himself Is Longed For; For Reflected In His Heart Is Love's Image, Which Is Love's Answer. But He Calls It, And Believes It, Not Love But Friendship.

What Keeps The Democracy Alive At All But The Hatred Of Excellence; The Desire Of The Base To See No Head Higher Than Their Own?