When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
If we are uncritical we shall always find what we want: we shall look for, and find, confirmations, and we…
The voice of a young man One sticks one's finger into the soil to tell by the smell in what…
One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done.