May My Last Breath Be Drawn Through

My Motto Is: Contented With Little, Yet Wishing For More.

I Counsel Thee, Shut Not Thy Heart, Nor Thy Library.

What A Dead Thing Is A Clock, With Its Ponderous Embowelments Of Lead And Brass, Its Pert Or Solemn Dullness Of Communication, Compared With The Simple Altar-like Structure And Silent Heart-language Of The Old Sundials! It Stood As The Garden God Of Christian Gardens. Why Is It Almost Everywhere Vanished? If Its Business-use Be Superseded By More Elaborate Inventions, Its Moral Uses, Its Beauty, Might Have Pleaded For Its Continuance.

The Muses Were Dumb While Apollo Lectured.

The Beggar Wears All Colors Fearing None.