For The World Is Only Governed By

Man Is Made Of The Wholly Common, And Custom Is His Nurse; Woe Then To Them Who Lay Irreverent Hands On His Old House-furniture, The Dear Inheritance From His Forefathers: For Time Consecrates, And What Is Gray With Age Becomes Religion.

Dear Is My Friend--yet From My Foe, As From My Friend, Comes Good: My Friend Shows What I Can Do, And My Foe What I Should.

Sorrows Must Die With The Joys They Outnumber.

When The Measured Dance Of The Hours Brings Back The Happy Smile Of Spring, The Buried Dead Is Born Again In The Life-glance Of The Sun. The Germs Which Perished To The Eye Within The Cold Breast Of The Earth Spring Up With Joy In The Bright Realm Of Day.

The Man Who Fears Nothing Is As Powerful As He Who Is Feared By Everybody.