Taste Is The Next Gift To Genius.

Sincerity Is Impossible, Unless It Pervade The Whole Being, And The Pretence Of It Saps The Very Foundation Of Character.

Ye Come And Go Incessant; We Remain Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past; Be Reverent, Ye Who Flit And Are Forgot, Of Faith So Nobly Realized As This.

Slow Are The Steps Of Freedom, But Her Feet Turn Never Backward.

For There's Nothing We Read Of In Torture's Inventions, Like A Well-meaning Dunce, With The Best Of Intentions.

Here Was A Type Of The True Elder Race, And One Of Plutarch's Men Talked With Us Face To Face.