I Let Everyone Follow His Own Bent,

Whoso Is Content With Pure Experience And Acts Upon It Has Enough Of Truth.

A Vi'let On The Meadow Grew, That No One Saw, That No One Knew, It Was A Modest Flower. A Shepherdess Pass'd By That Way-- Light Footed, Pretty And So Gay; That Way She Came, Softly Warbling Forth Her Lay.

The World Runs On From One Folly To Another; And The Man Who, Solely From Regard To The Opinion Of Others, And Without Any Wish Or Necessity Of His Own, Toils After Gold, Honour, Or Any Other Phantom, Is No Better Than A Fool.

The Deepest, The Only Theme Of Human History, Compared To Which All Others Are Of Subordinate Importance, Is The Conflict Of Skepticism With Faith.

The Flowers Are Full Of Honey, But Only The Bee Finds Out The Sweetness.