By Putting Forward The Hands Of The

Music Is The Vapor Of Art. It Is To Poetry What Reverie Is To Thought, What Fluid Is To Solid, What The Ocean Of Clouds Is To The Ocean Of Waves.

There Is A Determined Though Unseen Bravery That Defends Itself Foot By Foot In The Darkness Against The Fatal Invasions Of Necessity And Dishonesty. Noble And Mysterious Triumphs That No Eye Sees, And No Fame Rewards, And No Flourish Of Triumph Salutes. Life, Misfortunes, Isolation, Abandonment, Poverty, Are Battlefields That Have Their Heroes; Obscure Heroes, Sometimes Greater Than The Illustrious Heroes.

The Peasants Of The Asturias Believe That In Every Litter Of Wolves There Is One Pup That Is Killed By The Mother For Fear That On Growing Up It Would Devour The Other Little Ones.

Creation Lives, Grows, And Multiplies; Man Is But A Witness.

There Have Been In This Century Only One Great Man And One Great Thing: Napoleon And Liberty. For Want Of The Great Man, Let Us Have The Great Thing.