"My laws," she said, "are of myself a part:
I read them by examining my heart."
"True," he replied; "like those to Moses known,
Thine also are engraven upon stone."
Love is a distracted attention: from contemplation Of one's self one
turns to consider one's dream.
"Halt!--who goes there?" "Death." "Advance, Death, and give the
countersign." "How needless! I care not to enter thy camp tonight. Thou
shalt enter mine." "What! I a deserter?" "Nay, a great soldier. Thou
shalt overcome all the enemies of mankind." "Who are they?" "Life and
the Fear of Death."
The palmist looks at the wrinkles made by closing the hand and says they
signify character. The philosopher reads character by what the hand most
loves to close upon.
Ah, woe is his, with length of living cursed,
Who, nearing second childhood, had no first.
Behind, no glimmer, and before no ray--
night at either end of his dark day.
A noble enthusiasm in praise of Woman is not incompatible with a
spirited zeal in defamation of women.
The money-getter who pleads his love of work has a lame defense, for
love of work at money-getting is a lower taste than love of money.
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