They Have Rights Who Dare Maintain Them.

In The Earliest Ages Science Was Poetry, As In The Later Poetry Has Become Science.

The Greatest Homage We Can Pay To Truth, Is To Use It.

The Ash Her Purple Drops Forgivingly And Sadly, Breaking Not The General Hush; The Maple Swamps Glow Like A Sunset Sea, Each Leaf A Ripple With Its Separate Flush; All Round The Wood's Edge Creeps The Skirting Blaze, Ere The Rain Falls, The Cautious Farmer Burns His Brush.

What A Sense Of Security In An Old Book Which Time Has Criticized For Us!

In Creating, The Only Hard Thing Is To Begin: A Grass Blade's No Easier To Make Than An Oak.