Shallow Men Believe In Luck.

I May Say It Of Our Preposterous Use Of Books,--he Knew Not What To Do, And So He Read.

The Dead Sleep In Their Moonless Night; My Business Is With The Living.

We Live In A System Of Approximations. Every End Is Prospective Of Some Other End, Which Is Also Temporary; A Round And Final Success Nowhere. We Are Encamped In Nature, Not Domesticated.

As Long As Our People Quote English Standards They Dwarf Their Own Proportions.

A Ruddy Drop Of Manly Blood The Surging Sea Outweighs; The World Uncertain Comes And Goes, The Lover Rooted Stays.