He Who Despairs Is Wrong.

The Heart Becomes Heroic Through Passion. It Is No Longer Composed Of Anything But What Is Pure; It No Longer Rests Upon Anything But What Is Elevated And Great.

The Hatred Of Luxury Is Not An Intelligent Hatred. It Implies A Hatred Of Arts.

The Word Is The Verb, And The Verb Is God.

One Is Not Idle Because One Is Absorbed. There Is Both Visible And Invisible Labor. To Contemplate Is To Toil, To Think Is To Do. The Crossed Arms Work, The Clasped Hands Act. The Eyes Upturned To Heaven Are An Act Of Creation.

The Jostling Of Young Minds Against Each Other Has This Wonderful Attribute, That One Can Never Foresee The Spark, Nor Predict The Flash. What Will Spring Up In A Moment? Nobody Knows.