Music Is The Poor Man's Parnassus.

Play Out The Game, Act Well Your Part, And If The Gods Have Blundered, We Will Not.

If A Man Knows The Law, Find Out, Though He Live In A Pine Shanty, And Resort To Him. And If A Man Can Pipe Or Sing, So As To Wrap The Imprisoned Soul In An Elysium; Or Can Paint A Landscape, And Convey Into Souls And Ochres All The Enchantments Of Spring Or Autumn; Or Can Liberate And Intoxicate All People Who Hear Him With Delicious Songs And Verses; It Is Certain That The Secret Cannot Be Kept; The First Witness Tells It To A Second, And Men Go By Fives And Tens And Fifties To His Doors.

Every Man Supposes Himself Not To Be Fully Understood Or Appreciated.

It Is Vain To Keep A Secret From One Who Has A Right To Know It. It Will Tell Itself.

The Wonder Is That We Can See These Trees And Not Wonder More.