Whatever Causes Night In Our Souls May

Intelligence Is The Wife, Imagination Is The Mistress, Memory Is The Servant.

Every Bird Which Flies Has The Thread Of The Infinite In Its Claw.

Great Buildings, Like Great Mountains, Are The Work Of Centuries.

Let Us Leave To The Brain What Belongs To It, And Agree That The Work Of The Men Of Genius Is Of The Superhuman, The Offspring Of Man.

Heaven, On Occasion, Half Opens Its Arms To Us; And That Is The Great Moment.