My Life Is Not An Apology, But

The World Globes Itself In A Drop Of Dew.

The Brevity Of Human Life Gives A Melancholy To The Profession Of The Architect.

Give Me Wine To Wash Me Clean Of The Weather-stains Of Cares

There Is No Luck In Literary Reputation. They Who Make Up The Final Verdict Upon Every Book Are Not The Partial And Noisy Readers Of The Hour When It Appears; But A Court As Of Angels, A Public Not To Be Bribed, Not To Be Entreated, And Not To Be Overawed, Decides Upon Every Man's Title To Fame.

Meek Young Men Grow Up In Colleges And Believe It Is Their Duty To Accept The Views Which Books Have Given, And Grow Up Slaves.