When Eras Die, Their Legacies Are Left

The World Of Books Is The Most Remarkable Creation Of Man. Nothing Else That He Builds Ever Lasts. Monuments Fall; Nations Perish; Civilizations Grow Old And Die Out; And, After An Era Of Darkness, New Races Build Others. But In The World Of Books Are Volumes That Have Seen This Happen Again And Again, And Yet Live On, Still Young, Still As Fresh As The Day They Were Written, Still Telling Men's Hearts Of The Hearts Of Men Centuries Dead.

There Is An Art Of Reading, As Well As An Art Of Thinking, And An Art Of Writing.

Tender Are A Mother's Dreams, But Her Babe's Not What He Seems. See Him Plotting In His Mind To Grow Up Some Other Kind.

We Talk Of Our Mastery Of Nature, Which Sounds Very Grand; But The Fact Is We Respectfully Adapt Ourselves, First, To Her Ways.

The Artistic Impulse Seems Not To Wish To Produce Finished Work. It Certainly Deserts Us Half-way, After The Idea Is Born; And If We Go On, It Is Labor.