Ah, Nothing Comes To Us Too Soon

Application Is The Price To Be Paid For Mental Acquisition. To Have The Harvest, We Must Sow The Seed.

All Are Of The Race Of God, And Have In Themselves Good.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.

I Cannot Love As I Have Loved, And Yet I Know Not Why; It Is The One Great Woe Of Life To Feel All Feeling Die.

Music Lives Within Thy Lips Like A Nightingale In Roses.