My Right To Swing My Fist Ends

No Generalization Is Wholly True—not Even This One.

It Seems To Me That At This Time We Need Education In The Obvious More Than Investigation Of The Obscure.

The Wind Blows Out, The Bubble Dies; The Spring Entomb'd In Autumn Lies; The Dew Dries Up; The Star Is Shot; The Flight Is Past, And Man Forgot.

Men, Like Peaches And Pears, Grow Sweet A Little While Before They Begin To Decay.

There Is No Friend Like The Old Friend, Who Has Shared Our Morning Days, No Greeting Like His Welcome, No Homage Like His Praise: Fame Is The Scentless Sunflower, With Gaudy Crown Of Gold; But Friendship Is The Breathing Rose, With Sweets In Every Fold.