To this generation I would say: Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty.

Work for your own soul's sake.

Those who first oppose a good work, seize it and make it their own, when the cornerstone is laid and memorial tablets are erected.

He stripped off the armor of institutional friendships To dedictate his soul To the terrible deities of Truth and Beauty.

. . . the weal of the race, and the cause of humanity, here and now, are enough To give life meaning and death as well.

To put meaning in one's life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture Of restlessness and vague desire-It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

This is a man with an old face, always old... There was pathos, in his face, and in his eyes. The early weariness; and sometimes tears in his eyes, Which he let slip unconsciously on his cheek, Or brushed away with an unconcerned hand. There were tears for human suffering, or for a glance Into the vast futility of life, Which he had seen from the first, being old When he was born.