Mind Is A Light Which

Goethe In Weimar Sleeps, And Greece, Long Since, Saw Byron 's Struggle Cease.

If Paris That Brief Flight Allow, My Humble Tomb Explore! It Bears: Eternity, Be Thou My Refuge! And No More.

Know, Man Hath All Which Nature Hath, But More, And In That More Lie All His Hopes Of Good.

Everything In Our Political Life Tends To Hide From Us That There Is Anything Wiser Than Our Ordinary Selves.

For The Creation Of A Masterwork Of Literature Two Powers Must Concur, The Power Of The Man And The Power Of The Moment, And The Man Is Not Enough Without The Moment.