Stones Have Been Known To Move And

Ornament Is But The Guiled Shore To A Most Dangerous Sea.

A Hand As Fruitful As The Land That Feeds Us; His Dew Falls Everywhere.

Let Me Not Live, After My Flame Lacks Oil, To Be The Snuff Of Younger Spirits.

You Are Not Worth The Dust Which The Rude Wind Blows In Your Face.

I Profess Not Talking: Only This, Let Each Man Do His Best.