A Bottomless Pit Of Violence, A Tower

I Have Learned To Prize The Quiet, Lightning Deed, Not The Applauding Thunder At Its Heels That Men Call Fame.

A Man's Real Possession Is His Memory. In Nothing Else Is He Rich, In Nothing Else Is He Poor.

The Truly Great Rest In The Knowledge Of Their Own Deserts, Nor Seek The Conformation Of The World.

Good-humor And, Generosity Carry Day With The Popular Heart All The World Over.

My Heart Like Moon-charmed Waters, All Unrest.