Silence is as deep as eternity, speech a shallow as time.

In books lies the soul of the whole past time.

If an eloquent speaker speak not the truth, is there a more horrid kind of object in creation?

Nothing that was worthy in the past departs no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die.

For, if a good speaker, never so eloquent, does not see into the fact, and is not speaking the truth of that - is there a more horrid kind of object in creation?