Let The Bird Sing Without Deciphering The

Truth, And Goodness, And Beauty, Are But Different Faces Of The Same All

The Fatal Trait Of The Times Is The Divorce Between Religion And Morality.

I Read Your Piece On Plato. Holmes, When You Strike At A King, You Must Kill Him.

Why Needs A Man Be Rich? Why Must He Have Horses, Fine Garments, Handsome Apartments, Access To Public Houses, And Places Of Amusement? Only For Want Of Thought.

Rude Poets Of The Tavern Hearth, Squandering Your Unquoted Mirth, Which Keeps The Ground, And Never Soars, While Jake Retorts, And Reuben Roars; Tough And Screaming, As Birch-bark, Goes Like Bullet To Its Mark; While The Solid Curse And Jeer Never Balk The Waiting Ear.