Fortime, Not Corydon, Hath Conquered Thee.

Hither And Thither Spins The Wind-borne Mirroring Soul, A Thousand Glimpses Wins, And Never Sees A Whole.

Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying Men, And Falsehood, While I Lived, Was Far From Mine.

Life Is Not Having And Getting, But Being And Becoming

Our Inequality Materializes Our Upper Class, Vulgarizes Our Middle Class, Brutalizes Our Lower Class.

Business Could Not Make Dull, Nor Passion Wild; Who Saw Life Steadily, And Saw It Whole.