For The World Is Only Governed By

The Great Happiness Of Life, I Find, After All, To Consist In The Regular Discharge Of Some Mechanical Duty.

Most Gladly Would I Give The Blood-stained Laurel For The First Violet Which March Brings Us, The Fragrant Pledge Of The New-fledged Year.

We, We Live! Ours Are The Hours, And The Living Have Their Claims.

Far Must Thy Researches Go Wouldst Thou Learn The World To Know; Thou Must Tempt The Dark Abyss Wouldst Thou Prove What Being Is; Naught But Firmness Gains The Prize, Naught But Fullness Makes Us Wise, Buried Deep Truth E'er Lies.

Deaf Rage That Hears No Leader.