I Feel An Army In My Fist.

In A Narrow Circle The Mind Grows Narrow. The More One Expands, The Larger Their Aims.

Time Is A Blooming Field: Nature Is Ever Teeming With Life: And All Is Seed, And All Is Fruit.

A Brave Man Hazards Life, But Not His Conscience.

Ever Building, Building To The Clouds, Still Building Higher, And Never Reflecting That The Poor Narrow Basis Cannot Sustain The Giddy Tottering Column.

Weep, For The Light Is Dead.