It Is The Heart And Not The

Tomorrow Is The Mysterious, Unknown Guest.

We Judge Ourselves By What We Feel Capable Of Doing, While Others Judge Us By What We Have Already Done.

The Heart, Like The Mind, Has A Memory. And In It Are Kept The Most Precious Keepsakes.

Ah, To Build, To Build! That Is The Noblest Art Of All The Arts. Painting And Sculpture Are But Images, Are Merely Shadows Cast By Outward Things On Stone Or Canvas, Having In Themselves No Separate Existence. Architecture, Existing In Itself, And Not In Seeming A Something It Is Not, Surpasses Them As Substance Shadow.

O Beautiful, Awful Summer Day, What Hast Thou Given, What Taken Away?