And Tell Him To Paint Me A

None But A Good Man Is Really A Living Man, And The More Good Any Man Does, The More He Really Lives. All The Rest Is Death, Or Belongs To It.

Do Not Presume, Well-housed, Well-warmed, And Well-fed, To Criticize The Poor

Love Is Both Creator's And Saviour's Gospel To Mankind; A Volume Bound In Rose-leaves, Clasped With Violets, And By The Beaks Of Humming-birds Printed With Peach-juice On The Leaves Of Lilies.

In Our Own Hearts, We Mold The Whole World's Hereafters; And In Our Own Hearts We Fashion Our Own Gods.

I Am Tormented With An Everlasting Itch For Things Remote. I Love To Sail Forbidden Seas.