Coldly and capriciously the slanting sunbeams fall.
Every life is meant to help all lives; each man should live for all men's betterment.
True worth is in being, not seeming
Not what we think, but what we do, / Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, / The outlines of the corpse show through / The cloth of gold.
Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.
I hold that a man had better be dead than alive when his work is done.