The Old Echoes Are Long In Dying.

Ideals We Do Not Make. We Discover, Not Invent, Them.

So Far From Genius Discarding Law, Rather Is It The Supreme Joy Of Genius To Re-enact The Eternal And Unwritten Law In The Chamber Of Its Own Intel-lect.

Faith Is Mind At Its Best, Its Bravest, And Its Fiercest. Faith Is Thought Become Poetry, And Absorbing Into Itself The Soul's Great, Passions. Faith Is Intellect Carried Up To Its Transfigurement.

In A Life Which Has Meaning In It, Past And Future Sustain Each Other.

Purposelessness Is The Fruitful Mother Of Crime.