Dear Mother, Dear Mother, The

He Who Pretends To Be Either Painter Or Engraver Without Being A Master Of Drawing Is An Imposter.

Nature In Darkness Groans And Men Are Bound To Sullen Contemplation In The Night: Restless They Turn On Beds Of Sorrow; In Their Inmost Brain Feeling The Crushing Wheels, They Rise, They Write The Bitter Words Of Stern Philosophy And Knead The Bread Of Knowledge With Tears And Groans.

To The Eyes Of A Miser A Guinea Is More Beautiful Than The Sun, And A Bag Worn With The Use Of Money Has More Beautiful Proportions Than A Vine Filled With Grapes.

The Bat That Flits At Close Of Eve Has Left The Brain That Won't Believe. The Owl That Calls Upon The Night Speaks The Unbeliever's Fright.

He Who Makes His Law A Curse, By His Own Law Shall Surely Die.