Goodness That Preaches Undoes Itself.

But Genius Looks Forward: The Eyes Of Men Are Set In His Forehead, Not In His Hindhead: Man Hopes: Genius Creates.

To Fill The Hour──that Is Happiness.

Culture Opens The Sense Of Beauty.

The Indian Who Was Laid Under A Curse, That The Wind Should Not Blow On Him, Nor Water Flow To Him, Nor Fire Burn Him, Is A Type Of Us All. The Dearest Events Are Summer-rain, And We The Para Coats That Shed Every Drop. Nothing Is Left Us Now But Death. We Look To That With A Grim Satisfaction, Saying, There At Least Is Reality That Will Not Dodge Us.

But When You Have Chosen Your Part, Abide By It, And Do Not Weakly Try To Reconcile Yourself With The World.