Language Is The Machine Of The Poet.

Nothing Except The Mint Can Make Money Without Advertising.

Forget All Feuds, And Shed One English Tear O'er English Dust. A Broken Heart Lies Here.

Our Judgment Ripens; Our Imagination Decays. We Cannot At Once Enjoy The Flowers Of The Spring Of Life And The Fruits Of Its Autumn.

Those Who Seem To Load The Public Taste Are, In General, Merely Outrunning It In The Direction Which It Is Spontaneously Pursuing.

A System In Which The Two Great Commandments Are To Hate Your Neighbor And To Love Your Neighbor's Wife.