Fear, Craft And Avarice Cannot Rear A

All Men Are Poets At Heart.

Infancy Conforms To Nobody; All Conform To It.

Pride Ruined The Angels, Their Shame Them Restores; And The Joy That Is Sweetest Lurks In Stings Of Remorse.

There Are Other Measures Of Self-respect For A Man, Than The Number Of Clean Shirts He Puts On Every Day.

There Is No Eloquence Without A Man Behind It.