8 ordspråk av William Forrest Winter

William Forrest Winter

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No life can be barren which hears the whisper of the wind in the branches, or the voice of the sea as it breaks upon the shore; and no soul can lack happiness looking up to the midnight stars.

The fault line of race is a paramount factor in keeping us from realizing our potential as a state and as a nation. The elimination of this line is what I think this institute is about. . . . Our task in the final analysis is to cause more of us to look in the mirror.

When will the dead world cease to dream,
When will the morning break?

Though all the bards of earth were dead,
And all their music passed away,
What Nature wishes should be said
She'll find the rightful voice to say.

And every grief that mortals share
Found pity in his tenderness.

Life is arched with changing skies:
Rarely are they what they seem:
Children we of smiles and sighs --
Much we know, but more we dream.

Manners, -- The final and perfect flower of noble character.

The golden time of Long Ago.

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