The Flowering Of Civilization Is The Finished

To The Poet, To The Philosopher, To The Saint, All Things Are Friendly And Sacred, All Events Profitable, All Days Holy, All Men Divine.

No Hope So Bright But Is The Beginning Of Its Own Fulfilment.

Whence, Then, This Worship Of The Past? The Centuries Are Conspirators Against The Sanity And Authority Of The Soul.

The World Exists For The Education Of Each Man.

Who Shall Set A Limit To The Influence Of A Human Being? There Are Men, Who, By Their Sympathetic Attractions, Carry Nations Withthem, And Lead The Activity Of The Human Race. And If There Be Such A Tie, That, Wherever The Mind Of Man Goes, Nature Will Accompany Him, Perhaps There Are Men Whose Magnetisms Are Of That Force To Draw Material And Elemental Powers, And, Where They Appear, Immense Instrumentalities Organize Around Them.