If You Are Ever In

Neither Had Watt Of The Steam Engine A Heroic Origin, Any Kindred With The Princes Of This World. The Princes Of This World Were Shooting Their Partridges... While This Man With Blackened Fingers, With Grim Brow, Was Searching Out, In His Workshop, The Fire-secret.

Music Is Well Said To Be The Speech Of Angels; In Fact, Nothing Among The Utterances Allowed To Man Is Felt To Be So Divine. It Brings Us Near To The Infinite.

It Is Part Of My Creed That The Only Poetry Is History, Could We Tell It Right.

Not What I Have, But What I Do Is My Kingdom.

Stern Accuracy In Inquiring, Bold Imagination In Describing, These Are The Cogs On Which History Soars Or Flutters And Wobbles.