Nothing Could Moderate, In The Bosom Of

Our Society Distributes Itself Into Barbarians, Philistines And Populace; And America Is Just Ourselves With The Barbarians Quite Left Out, And The Populace Nearly.

We Cannot Kindle When We Will The Fire Which In The Heart Resides, The Spirit Bloweth And Is Still, In Mystery Our Soul Abides: But Tasks In Hours Of Insight Will'd Can Be Through Hours Of Gloom Fulfill'd.

With Aching Hands And Bleeding Feet We Dig And Heap, Lay Stone On Stone; We Bear The Burden And The Heat Of The Long Day, And Wish 'twere Done. Not Till The Hours Of Light Return All We Have Built Do We Discern.

History - A Vast Mississippi Of Falsehoods

That Which In England We Call The Middle Class Is In America Virtually The Nation.