A New And Valid Idea Is Worth

Beware Of Making Your Moral Staple Consist Of The Negative Virtues.

Our Dead Brothers And Sisters Still Live For Us And Bid Us Think Of Life, Not Death-of Life To Which In Their Youth They Lent The Passion And Glory Of Spring. As I Listen, The Great Chorus Of Life And Joy Begins Again, And Amid The Awful Orchestra Of Seen And Unseen Powers And Destinies Of Good And Evil, Our Trumpets Sound Once More A Note Of Daring, Hope, And Will.

Old Age Is Like An Opium Dream. Nothing Seems Real Except The Unreal.

Most Of The Things We Do, We Do For No Better Reason Than That Our Fathers Have Done Them Or Our Neighbors Do Them, And The Same Is True Of A Larger Part Than What We Suspect Of What We Think.

Three Generations Of Imbeciles Are Enough.