Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels

A Book That Furnishes No Quotations, Is Me Judice, No Book, — It Is A Plaything.

The Mountain Sheep Are Sweeter, But The Valley Sheep Are Fatter. We Therefore Deemed It Meeter To Carry Off The Latter.

Time Is Lord Of Thee: Thy Wealth, Thy Glory, And Thy Name Are His.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.

They Have Poisoned The Thames And Killed The Fish In The River. A Little Further Development Of The Same Wisdom And Science Will Complete The Poisoning Of The Air, And Kill The Dwellers On The Banks. I Almost Think It Is The Destiny Of Science To Exterminate The Human Race.