History Is But The Unrolled

When The Divine Artist Would Produce A Poem, He Plants A Germ Of It In A Human Soul, And Out Of That Soul The Poem Springs And Grows As From The Rose-tree The Rose.

History Is Constantly Repeating Itself, Making Only Such Changes Of Programme As The Growth Of Nations And Centuries Requires.

If You Are Not Too Large For The Place You Occupy, You Are Too Small For It.

To All Our Means Of Culture Is Added The Powerful Incentive To Personal Ambition, No Post Of Honor Is So High But The Poorest May Hope To Reach It.

Heroes Did Not Make Our Liberties; They But Reflected And Illustrated Them.