If All Were Rich, Gold Would Be

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

It Is Much Less What We Do Than What We Think, Which Fits Us For The Future.

As The Master So The Valet.

Ask Not Of Me, Love, What Is Love? Ask What Is Good Of God Above; Ask Of The Great Sun What Is Light; Ask What Is Darkness Of The Night; Ask Sin Of What May Be Forgiven; Ask What Is Happiness Of Heaven; Ask What Is Folly Of The Crowd; Ask What Is Fashion Of The Shroud; Ask What Is Sweetness Of Thy Kiss; Ask Of Thyself What Beauty Is.

Who Can Mistake Great Thoughts? They Seize Upon The Mind; Arrest And Search, And Shake It; Bow The Tall Soul As By Wind; Rush Over It Like A River Reeds.