Harmony Of Aim, Not Identity Of Conclusion,

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

Very Few Of Our Race Can Be Said To Be Yet Finished Men. We Still Carry Sticking To Us Some Remains Of The Preceding Inferior Quadruped Organization. We Call These Millions Men; But They Are Not Yet Men. Half-engaged In The Soil, Pawing To Get Free, Man Needs All The Music That Can Be Brought To Disengage Him.

There Is No Great And No Small To The Soul That Maketh All.

By Necessity, By Proclivity, And By Delight, We All Quote.

We Do Not Make A World Of Our Own, But Fall Into Institutions Already Made, And Have To Accommodate Ourselves To Them To Be Useful At All.