Sorrow Is The Great Idealizer.

A Poet Must Need Be Before His Own Age, To Be Even With Posterity

Aspiration Sees Only One Side Of Every Question; Possession Many.

That Love For One, From Which There Doth Not Spring Wide Love For All, Is But A Worthless Thing.

Slow Are The Steps Of Freedom, But Her Feet Turn Never Backward.

This Goin' Ware Glory Waits Ye Haint One Agreeable Feetur.