All the past we leave behind; We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers! O Pioneers!

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

The habit of giving only enhances the desire to give.

The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.

The earth does not argue, Is not pathetic, has no arrangements, Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out.

Produce great men, the rest follows.

All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.