I Fear The Vermin That

The Crest And Crowning Of All Good, Life's Final Star, Is Brotherhood.

That In The Human Plan Nothing Is Worth The Making If It Does Not Make The Man.

The Sequoias Belong To The Silences Of The Milleniums. Many Of Them Have Seen A Hundred Human Generations Rise, Give Off Their Little Clamors And Perish. They Seem Indeed To Be Forms Of Immortality Standing Here Amoing The Transitory Shapes Of Time.

It Is Better To Rust Out Than Wear Out.

Bowed By The Weight Of Centuries He Leans Upon His Hoe And Gazes On The Ground, The Emptiness Of Ages In His Face, And On His Back The Burden Of The World.