Apology Is Only Egotism Wrong

Build Thee More Stately Mansions, O My Soul, As The Swift Seasons Roll! Leave Thy Low-vaulted Past! Let Each New Temple, Nobler Than The Last, Shut Thee From Heaven With A Dome More Vast, Till Thou At Length Art Free, Leaving Thine Outgrown Shell By Life's Unresting Sea!

The Very Aim And End Of Our Institutions Is Just This: That We May Think What We Like And Say What We Think.

Yes, Child Of Suffering, Thou May'st Well Be Sure He Who Ordained The Sabbath Loves The Poor!

Love Is The Master-key That Opens The Gates Of Happiness, Of Hatred, Of Jealousy, And, Most Easily Of All, The Gate Of Fear.

Language Is The Blood Of The Soul Into Which Thoughts Run And Out Of Which They Grow.