The awful phantom of the hungry poor

Beauty vanishes like a vapor, Preach the men of musty morals.

He is one of those people to whom you must allow moods,—when their sun shines, dance,—and when their vapors rise, sit in the shadow.

Ah, happy world, where all things live Creatures of one great law, indeed; Bound by strong roots, the splendid flower,— Swept by great seas, the drifting seed!

A place of dream, the Holy Land Hangs midway between earth and heaven.

Riches is not what we have, but what we enjoy.

Poverty is not the fault of the poor. It is the fault of a system that allows idleness at the top and starvation at the bottom.