Some Love To Roam O'er The Dark

There Is No Such Thing As Death. In Nature Nothing Dies. From Each Sad Remnant Of Decay, Some Forms Of Life Arise So Shall His Life Be Taken Away Before He Knoweth That He Hath It.

Aid The Dawning, Tongue And Pen; Aid It, Hopes Of Honest Men!

An Arrow May Fly Through The Air And Leave No Trace; But An Ill Thought Leaves A Trail Like A Serpent.

In Reading The History Of Nations, We Find That, Like Individuals, They Have Their Whims And Their Peculiarities, Their Seasons Of Excitement And Recklessness, When They Care Not What They Do. We Find That Whole Communities Suddenly Fix Their Minds Upon One Object And Go Mad In Its Pursuit; That Millions Of People Become Simultaneously Impressed With One Delusion, And Run After It, Till Their Attention Is Caught By Some New Folly More Captivating Than The First.

Men, It Has Been Well Said, Think In Herds; It Will Be Seen That They Go Mad In Herds, While They Only Recover Their Senses Slowly, And One By One.