The King Is The Man Who Can.

The Fine Arts Once Divorcing Themselves From Truth Are Quite Certain To Fall Mad, If They Do Not Die.

He That Works And Does Some Poem, Not He That Merely Says One, Is Worthy Of The Name Of Poet.

Does Not Every True Man Feel That He Is Himself Made Higher By Doing Reverence To What Is Really Above Him?

How Great A Possibility, How Small A Realized Result.

There Is Always Hope In A Man That Actually And Earnestly Works: In Idleness Alone Is There Perpetual Despair.