In America, There Are Two

We Lose The Forest For The Trees, Forgetting, Even So Far As We Think At All, That We Are Trustees For Those Who Come After Us, Squandering The Patrimony Which We Have Received.

The Use Of History Is To Tell Us What We Are, For At Our Birth We Are Nearly Empty Vessels And We Become What Our Tradition Pours Into Us.

It Is Enough That We Set Out To Mold The Motley Stuff Of Life Into Some Form Of Our Own Choosing; When We Do, The Performance Is Itself The Wage.

We Accept The Verdict Of The Past Until The Need For Change Cries Out Loudly Enough To Force Upon Us A Choice Between The Comforts Of Inertia And The Irksomeness Of Action.

Words Are Not Pebbles In Alien Juxtaposition.