What Seems To Us But Dim Funeral

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting, And Our Hearts, Though Stout And Brave, Still, Like Muffled Drums, Are Beating Funeral Marches To The Grave.

Ambition Is So Powerful A Passion In The Human Breast, That However High We Reach We Are Never Satisfied.

And So We Plough Along, As The Fly Said To The Ox.

No Man Is So Poor As To Have Nothing Worth Giving.

He Spoke Well Who Said That Graves Are The Footprints Of Angels.