Music Is The Universal Language Of Mankind.

Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling Of Man And Beast, And Begotten Of Ixion On A Cloud.

Whoever Benefits His Enemy With Straightforward Intention That Man's Enemies Will Soon Fold Their Hands In Devotion.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begun, Each Evening Sees It Close; Something Attempted, Something Done, Has Earned A Night's Repose.

The Soul Never Grows Old.

Your Education Begins Where What Is Called Your Education Is Over. Your Fate Is But The Common Lot Of All.