Every Chair Should Be A Throne And

The Secret Of Fortune Is Joy In Our Hands. Welcome Evermore To Gods And Men Is The Self-helping Man. For Him All Doors Are Flung Wide. Him All Tongues Greet, All Honors Crown, All Eyes Follow With Desire. Our Love Goes Out To Him And Embraces Him Because He Did Not Need It.

A Poet Is No Rattlebrain, Saying What Comes Uppermost, And, Because He Says Every Thing, Saying, At Last, Something Good; But A Heart In Unison With His Time And Country. There Is Nothing Whimsical Or Fantastic In His Production, But Sweet And Sad Earnest, Freighted With The Weightiest Convictions, And Pointed With The Most Determined Aim Which Any Man Or Class Knows Of In His Times.

Illusion, Temperament, Succession, Surface, Surprise, Reality, Subjectiveness,--these Are The Threads On The Loom Of Time, These Are The Lords Of Life.

The Unbelief Of The Age Is Attested By The Loud Condemnation Of Trifles.

The Thief Steals From Himself. The Swindler Swindles Himself. For The Real Price Is Knowledge And Virtue, Whereof Wealth And Credit Are Signs. These Signs, Like Paper Money, May Be Counterfeited Or Stolen, But That Which They Represent, Namely, Knowledge And Virtue, Cannot Be Counterfeited Or Stolen.