Fun I Love, But Too Much Fun

He Who Does Not Imagine In Stronger And Better Lineaments, And In Stronger And Better Light Than His Perishing And Mortal Eye Can See, Does Not Imagine At All.

All Futurity Seems Teeming With Endless Destruction Never To Be Repelled; Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present In A Quenchless Rage.

A Dog Starved At His Master's Gate Predicts The Ruin Of The State.

O Earth, O Earth, Return! Arise From Out The Dewy Grass; Night Is Worn; And The Morn Rises From The Slumbrous Mass.

Holy, Holy, Holy Is The Lord God Almighty !