Let Us Answer A Book Of Ink

To The Birds And Trees He Talks: Caesar Of His Leafy Rome, There The Poet Is At Home.

Politics Is A Deleterious Profession, Like Some Poisonous Handicrafts.

Any Relation To The Land, The Habit Of Tilling It, Or Mining It, Or Even Hunting On It, Generates The Feeling Of Patriotism. He Who Keeps Shop On It, Or He Who Merely Uses It As A Support To His Desk And Ledger, Or To His Manufactory, Values It Less.

The Height Of The Pinnacle Is Determined By The Breadth Of The Base.

But I Cannot Recite, Even Thus Rudely, Laws Of The Intellect, Without Remembering That Lofty And Sequestered Class Of Men Who Have Been Its Prophets And Oracles, The High-priesthood Of The Pure Reason, The Trismegisti, The Expounders Of The Principles Of Thought From Age To Age.