Wealth Is A Means To An End,

Matters Change And Morals Change; Men Remain.

Come! Let Us Lay A Lance In Rest, And Tilt At Windmills Under A Wild Sky! For Who Would Live So Petty And Unblest That Dare Not Tilt At Something Ere He Die; Rather Than, Screened By Safe Majority, Preserve His Little Life To Little End, And Never Raise A Rebel Cry!

Memory Heaps Dead Leaves On Corpse-like Deeds, From Under Which They Do But Vaguely Offend The Sense.

Justice Is A Machine That, When Some One Has Once Given It The Starting Push, Rolls On Of Itself.

Dawn Has Power To Fertilise The Most Matter-of-fact Vision.