Come, see the north-wind's masonry, Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion.
Ralph Waldo EmersonI am ashamed to think how easily we capitulate to badges and names, to large societies and dead institutions.
Ralph Waldo Emerson