All Work, Even Cotton-spinning, Is

Providence Has Given To The French The Empire Of The Land, To The English That Of The Sea, To The Germans That Of--the Air!

Without Oblivion, There Is No Remembrance Possible. When Both Oblivion And Memory Are Wise, When The General Soul Of Man Is Clear, Melodious, True, There May Come A Modern Iliad As Memorial Of The Past.

My Whinstone House My Castle Is, I Have My Own Four Walls.

In No Time Whatever Can Small Critics Entirely Eradicate Out Of Living Men's Hearts A Certain Altogether Peculiar Collar Reverence For Great Men--genuine Admiration, Loyalty, Adora-tion.

We Have Not The Love Of Greatness, But The Love Of The Love Of Greatness.