Virtue Treads Paths That End

Here Come The Hum The Golden Bees Underneath Full Blossomed Trees, At Once With Glowing Fruit And Flowers Crowned.

Not A Deed Would He Do, Not A Word Would He Utter, Till He's Weighed Its Relation To Plain Bread And Butter.

Sorrow Is The Great Idealizer.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change... [truth's] Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past.

The Mind Can Weave Itself Warmly In The Cocoon Of Its Own Thoughts, And Dwell A Hermit Anywhere.