Life Is Painting A Picture, Not Doing

Our Dead Brothers And Sisters Still Live For Us And Bid Us Think Of Life, Not Death-of Life To Which In Their Youth They Lent The Passion And Glory Of Spring. As I Listen, The Great Chorus Of Life And Joy Begins Again, And Amid The Awful Orchestra Of Seen And Unseen Powers And Destinies Of Good And Evil, Our Trumpets Sound Once More A Note Of Daring, Hope, And Will.

Our Test Of Truth Is A Reference To Either A Present Or Imagined Future Majority In Favour Of Our View.

Most Of The Things We Do, We Do For No Better Reason Than That Our Fathers Have Done Them Or Our Neighbors Do Them, And The Same Is True Of A Larger Part Than What We Suspect Of What We Think.

Reason Means Truth And Those Who Are Not Governed By It Take The Chance That Someday The Sunken Fact Will Rip The Bottom Out Of Their Boat.

As For The Excellent Little Wretches Who Grow Up In What They Are Taught, With Never A Scruple Or A Query, ... They Signify Nothing In The Intellectual Life Of The Race.