Not Failure, But Low Aim, Is Crime.

What Men Call Luck Is The Prerogative Of Valiant Souls, The Fealty Life Pays Its Rightful Kings.

There Comes Emerson First, Whose Rich Words, Every One, Are Like Gold Nails In Temples To Hang Trophies On.

In All Literary History There Is No Such Figure As Dante, No Such Homogeneousness Of Life And Works, Such Loyalty To Ideas, Such Sublime Irrecognition Of The Unessential.

It May Be Conjectured That It Is Cheaper In The Long Run To Lift Men Up Than To Hold Them Down, And That The Ballot In Their Hands Is Less Dangerous To Society Than A Sense Of Wrong Is In Their Heads.

Those Who Love Are But One Step From Heaven.