Fame Is No Plant That Grows On

For So I Created Them Free And Free They Must Remain.

Our Country Is Where Ever We Are Well Off.

Meadows Trim With Daisies Pied, Shallow Brooks And Rivers Wide Towers And Battlements It Sees Bosom'd High In Tufted Trees, Where Perhaps Some Beauty Lies, The Cynosure Of Neighboring Eyes.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.

Part Of My Soul I Seek Thee, And Claim Thee My Other Half