Art Is The Right Hand

Man Is Made Of The Wholly Common, And Custom Is His Nurse; Woe Then To Them Who Lay Irreverent Hands On His Old House-furniture, The Dear Inheritance From His Forefathers: For Time Consecrates, And What Is Gray With Age Becomes Religion.

We Are Citizens Of An Age, As Well As Of A State; And If It Is Held To Be Unseemly, Or Even Inadmissible, For A Man To Cut Himself Off From The Customs And Manners Of The Circle In Which He Lives, Why Should It Be Less Of A Duty, In The Choice Of His Activity, To Submit His Decision To The Needs And The Taste Of His Century?

Whoever Fails To Turn Aside The Ills Of Life By Prudent Forethought, Must Submit To Fulfill The Course Of Destiny.

He Cannot Complain Of A Hard Sentence, Who Is Made Master Of His Own Fate.

Virtue, Though Clothed In A Beggar's Garb, Commands Respect.