Man Is Made Of Ordinary Things, And

O'er Ocean, With A Thousand Masts, Sails Forth The Stripling Bold- One Boat, Hard Rescued From The Deep, Draws Into Port The Old!

Time Flies On Restless Pinions - Constant Never.

Rigor Pushed Too Far Is Sure To Miss Its Aim, However Good, As The Bow Snaps That Is Bent Too Stiffly.

Man Is Never So Authentically Himself As When At Play.

To The Fool-king Belongs The World.