Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is

The Long Days Are No Happier Than The Short Ones.

He Is A Fool Who Is Not For Love And Beauty. I Speak Unto The Young, For I Am Of Them And Always Shall Be.

Leave The Poor Some Time For Self-improvement. Let Them Not Be Forced To Grind The Bones Out Of Their Arms For Bread, But Have Some Space To Think And Feel Like Moral And Immortal Creatures.

Respect Is What We Owe; Love, What We Give.

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.