Truth Is More Than A Dream And

You Worthy Critics, Or Whatever You May Call Yourselves, Are Ashamed Or Afraid Of The Momentary And Passing Madness Which Is Found In All Real Creators, The Longer Or Shorter Duration Of Which Distinguishes The Thinking Artist From The Dreamer. Hence Your Complaints Of Unfruitfulness, For You Reject Too Soon And Discriminate Too Severely.

Love Can Sun The Realms Of Night.

The Mind Is The Eyesight Of The Soul.

Worthless Is The Nation That Does Not Gladly Stake Its All On Its Honor.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.