Concurring Hands Divide Flax For Damask That

I Believe Verbal Felicity Is The Fruit Of Ardor, Of Diligence, And Of Refusing To Be False.

War Is Pillage Versus Resistance And If Illusions Of Magnitude Could Be Transmuted Into Ideals Of Magnanimity, Peace Might Be Realized.

A Man Is A Writer If All His Words Are Strung In Definite Sentence Sounds.

Blessed The Geniuses Who Know / That Egomania Is Not A Duty.

There Is No Pleasure Subtler Than The Sensation Of Being A Good Workman; And In Work There Is The Sense Of Consanguinity-unconscious As A Rule But Sometimes Conscious.