Plant Your Dreams And Miracles Will Grow.

I Find Nothing Healthful Or Exalting In The Smooth Conventions Of Society. I Do Not Like The Close Air Of Saloons. I Begin To Suspect Myself To Be A Prisoner, Though Treated With All This Courtesy And Luxury. I Pay A Destructive Tax In My Conformity.

We Do Not Quite Forgive A Giver. The Hand That Feeds Us Is In Some Danger Of Being Bitten.

I Pray My Companion, If He Wishes For Bread, To Ask Me For Bread, And If He Wishes For Sassafras Or Arsenic, To Ask Me For Them, And Not To Hold Out His Plate, As If I Knew Already.

The Counting-room Maxims Liberally Expounded Are Laws Of The Universe. The Merchant's Economy Is A Coarse Symbol Of The Soul's Economy. It Is, To Spend For Power, And Not For Pleasure.

Use What Language You Will, You Can Never Say Anything But What You Are.