Happy Season Of Virtuous Youth, When Shame

Great Men Are The Modelers, Patterns, And In A Wide Sense Creators, Of Whatsoever The General Mass Of Men Contrived To Do And Attain.

All Work Is As Seed Sown; It Grows And Spreads, And Sows Itself Anew.

To The Vulgar Eye, Few Things Are Wonderful That Are Not Distant

Little Other Than A Red Tape Talking-machine, And Unhappy Bag Of Parliamentary Eloquence.

That Great Mystery Of Time, Were There No Other; The Illimitable, Silent, Never-resting Thing Called Time, Rolling, Rushing On, Swift, Silent, Like An All-embracing Ocean Tide, On Which We And All The Universe Swim Like Exhalations, Like Apparitions Which Are, And Then Are Not: This Is Forever Very Literally A Miracle; A Thing To Strike Us Dumb,-for We Have No Word To Speak About It.