Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying

Everything In Our Political Life Tends To Hide From Us That There Is Anything Wiser Than Our Ordinary Selves.

Beautiful City! . . . Spreading Her Gardens To The Moonlight, And Whispering From Her Towers The Last Enchantments Of The Middle Age . . . Her Ineffable Charm. . . . Adorable Dreamer, Whose Heart Has Been So Romantic!

We Do Not What We Ought; What We Ought Not, We Do; And Lean Upon The Thought That Chance Will Bring Us Through; But Our Own Acts, For Good Or Ill, Are Mightier Powers.

Culture Being A Pursuit Of Our Total Perfection By Means Of Getting To Know, On All The Matters Which Most Concern Us, The Best Which Has Been Thought And Said In The World.

On Sundays, At The Matin-chime, The Alpine Peasants, Two And Three, Climb Up Here To Pray; Burghers And Dames, At Summer's Prime, Ride Out To Church From Chamberry, Dight With Mantles Gay, But Else It Is A Lonely Time Round The Church Of Brou.