Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

Naught Is Too Small And Soft To Turn And Sting.

Until We Are All Free, We Are None Of Us Free.

Thick February Mists Cling Heavily To The Dead Earth And To Each Leafless Tree, And Closer Down Upon The Hilltops Draw, Dull Forecasts There Of Bright, Sure-coming Spring; Yet The Heart Gathers Hope And Strange Delight From This Dear, Unlovely, Wished-for Sight Of Leaden-misted Twilights Lengthening.

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

Jews Are The Intensive Form Of Any Nationality Whose Language And Customs They Adopt.