History Has Remembered The Kings And Warriors,

In Prison Wearily, Drearily, Half The Day Long, Flap The Great Banners High Over The Stone; Strangely And Eerily Sounds The Wind's Song, Bending The Banner-poles. While, All Alone, Watching The Loophole's Spark, Lie I, With Life All Dark, Feet Tethered, Hands Fettered Fast To The Stone, The Grim Walls, Square Lettered With Prisoned Men's Groan. Still Strain The Banner-poles Through The Wind's Song, Westward The Banner Rolls Over My Wrong.

If I Were Asked To Say What Is At Once The Most Important Production Of Art And The Thing Most To Be Longed For, I Should Answer, A Beautiful House.

Art Made By The People For The People, As A Joy To The Maker And The User.

It Has Become An Article Of The Creed Of Modern Morality That All Labour Is Good In Itself -- A Convenient Belief To Those Who Live On The Labour Of Others. But As To Those On Whom They Live, I Recommend Them Not To Take It On Trust, But To Look Into The Matter A Little Deeper.

History Has Remembered The Kings And Warriors, Because They Destroyed; Art Has Remembered The People, Because They Created.