For the night was not impartial. No, the night loved some more than others, served some more than others.
The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.
People fail forward to success.
I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street.
The charity that hastens to proclaim its good deeds, ceases to be charity, and is only pride and ostentation.
In the absences of a decent time machine, fiction remains the most sturdy vehicle for visiting other eras.
It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail.