Our Best History Is Still Poetry.

We Aim Above The Mark To Hit The Mark.

The Hand That Rounded Peter's Dome, And Groined The Aisles Of Christian Rome, Wrought In A Sad Sincerity; Himself From God He Could Not Free; He Builded Better Than He Knew: The Conscious Stone To Beauty Grew.

The Common Experience Is, That The Man Fits Himself As Well As He Can To The Customary Details Of That Work Or Trade He Falls Into, And Tends It As A Dog Turns A Spit. Then He Is Part Of The Machine He Moves; The Man Is Lost.

The Restraining Grace Of Common Sense Is The Mark Of All Valid Minds.

Black Men Built The Railroads, Not Blue Eyes.