He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man.
Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
Books are the best type of the influence of the past.