One Learns More Metaphysics From

Not But Wut Abstract War Is Horrid, I Sign To Thet With All My Heart, But Civilysation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes, Upon A Powder-cart.

Before Man Made Us Citizens, Great Nature Made Us Men.

Fate Loves Best Such Syllables As Are Sweet And Sonorous On The Tongue.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change; Then Let It Come: I Have No Dread Of What Is Called For By The Instinct Of Mankind. Nor Think I That God's World Would Fall Apart Because We Tear A Parchment More Or Less. Truth Is Eternal, But Her Effluence, With Endless Change, Is Fitted To The Hour; Her Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past. I Do Not Fear To Follow Out The Truth.

Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor And Me.