It Is The Heart Always That Sees,

The Stifled Hum Of Midnight, When Traffic Has Lain Down To Rest, And The Chariot Wheels Of Vanity, Still Rolling Here And There Through Distant Streets, Are Bearing Her To Halls Roofed In And Lighted To The Due Pitch For Her; And Only Vice And Misery, To Prowl Or To Moan Like Night Birds, Are Abroad.

The Mystery Of A Person, Indeed, Is Ever Divine To Him That Has A Sense For The Godlike.

With Stupidity And Sound Digestion, Man May Front Much.

'genius' Which Means Transcendent Capacity Of Taking Trouble, First Of All.

The True Past Departs Not, No Truth Or Goodness Realized By Man Ever Dies, Or Can Die; But All Is Still Here, And, Recognized Or Not, Lives And Works Through Endless Change.