Every Age Thinks Its Battle

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

Man,--the Aristocrat Amongst The Animals.

Everywhere That A Great Soul Gives Utterance To Its Thoughts, There Also Is A Golgotha.

And Over The Pond Are Sailing Two Swans All White As Snow; Sweet Voices Mysteriously Wailing Pierce Through Me As Onward They Go. They Sail Along, And A Ringing Sweet Melody Rises On High; And When The Swans Begin Singing, They Presently Must Die.

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.