A Hero Is A Man Who Does

Be Reverent Before The Dawning Day. Do Not Think Of What Will Be In A Year, Or In Ten Years. Think Of To-day.

Everyone, Deep Down Within, Carries A Small Cemetery Of Those He Has Loved.

Each Man Must Learn His Own Ideal And Try To Accomplish It: That Is A Surer Way Of Progress Than To Take The Ideas Of Another.

If There Is One Place On The Face Of The Earth Where All The Dreams Of Living Men Have Found A Home From The Very Earliest Days When Man Began The Dream Of Existence, It Is India. For More Than 30 Centuries, The Tree Of Vision, With All Its Thousand Branches And Their Millions Of Twigs, Has Sprung From This Torrid Land, The Burning Womb Of The Gods. It Renews Itself Tirelessly Showing No Signs Of Decay.

His (swami Vivekananda) Words Are Great Music, Phrases In The Style Of Beethoven, Stirring Rhythms Like The March Of Handel Choruses. I Cannot Touch These Sayings Of His, Scattered As They Are Through The Pages Of Books, At Thirty Years' Distance, Without Receiving A Thrill Through My Body Like An Electric Shock. And What Shocks, What Transports, Must Have Been Produced When In Burning Words They Issued From The Lips Of The Hero!