I Am Never Going To Write For

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free, The Wretched Refuse Of Your Teeming Shore, Send These, The Homeless, Tempest-tossed, To Me: I Lift My Lamp Beside The Golden Door.

Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

The Jewish Problem Is As Old As History, And Assumes In Each Age A New Form. The Life Or Death Of Millions Of Human Beings Hangs Upon Its Solution; Its Agitation Revives The Fiercest Passions For Good And For Evil That Inflame The Human Breast.

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free.

Thou Two-faced Year, Mother Of Change And Fate...