Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

A Good Book Is The Precious Lifeblood Of A Master Spirit.

Time Is The Subtle Thief Of Youth.

Tower'd Cities Please Us Then, And The Busy Hum Of Men.

O Welcome Pure-eyed Faith, White Handed Hope, Thou Hovering Angel Girt With Golden Wings.

Though We Take From A Covetous Man All His Treasure, He Has Yet One Jewel Left; You Cannot Bereave Him Of His Covetousness.