Idleness Induces Caprice.

In Life's Small Things Be Resolute And Great To Keep Thy Muscle Trained; Know'st Thou When Fate Thy Measure Takes, Or When She'll Say To Thee, "i Find Thee Worthy; Do This Deed For Me?"

What Visionary Tints The Year Puts On, When Falling Leaves Falter Through Motionless Air Or Numbly Cling And Shiver To Be Gone! How Shimmer The Low Flats And Pastures Bare, As With Her Nectar Hebe Autumn Fills The Bowl Between Me And Those Distant Hills, And Smiles And Shakes Abroad Her Misty, Tremulous Hair!

What Men Prize Most Is A Privilege, Even If It Be That Of Chief Mourner At A Funeral.

I Don't Believe In Principle, But I Do In Interest.

How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man, Grave Copier Of Copies.