Fulfill Thy Fate! Be-do-bear-and Thank God.

The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

Man Is A Military Animal, Glories In Gunpowder, And Loves Parade.

We Live In Deeds, Not Years; In Thoughts, Not Breaths; In Feelings, Not In Figures On A Dial.

The Value Of A Thought Cannot Be Told.

When Night Hath Set Her Silver Lamp High, Then Is The Time For Study.