The Flame Of Anger, Bright And Brief,

Little Men Build Up Great Ones, But The Snow Colossus Soon Melts; The Good Stand Under The Eye Of God, And Therefore Stand.

Heat And Animosity, Contest And Conflict, May Sharpen The Wits, Although They Rarely Do; They Never Strengthen The Understanding, Clear The Perspicacity, Guide The Judgment, Or Improve The Heart.

Of All Failures, To Fail In A Witticism Is The Worst, And The Mishap Is The More Calamitous In A Drawn-out And Detailed One

I See The Rainbow In The Sky, The Dew Upon The Grass; I See Them, And I Ask Not Why They Glimmer Or They Pass. With Folded Arms I Linger Not To Call Them Back; 'twere Vain: In This, Or In Some Other Spot, I Know They'll Shine Again.

The Eyes Of Critics, Whether In Commending Or Carping, Are Both On One Side, Like A Turbot's.