More! More! Is The Cry Of A

Little Fly, Thy Summer's Play My Thoughtless Hand Has Brushed Away. Am Not I A Fly Like Thee? Or Art Not Thou A Man Like Me? For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing!

We Are Here To Learn To Endure The Beams Of Love

He Who Would Do Good To Another Must Do It In Minute Particulars: General Good Is The Plea Of The Scoundrel, Hypocrite, And Flatterer, For Art And Science Cannot Exist But In Minutely Organized Particulars.

The Most Sublime Act Is To Set Another Before You.

The Cistern Contains: The Fountain Overflows.