Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.

Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

What custom wills, in all things should we do't,
The dust on antique time would lie unswept,
And mountainous error be too highly heaped
For truth to o'erpeer.

It is a vulgar error that love, a love, to woman is her whole existence; she is born for Truth and Love in their universal energy.

The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep tonight.