The truth sometimes not sought for comes forth to the light.
The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.
Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.
The child must teach the man.
As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.
For still the new transcends the old In signs and tokens manifold; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves, With roots deep set in battle graves!
Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants at tree, is more than all.
If you love your community, then you need to be insisting on justice in all circumstances.
Histories used often to be stories: the fashion now is to leave out the story. Our histories are stall-fed: the facts are absorbed by the reflexions, as the meat is sometimes by the fat.
I have a woman inside my soul.
From 1931 to 1937, I was a Fellow and Lecturer in Economics at Hertford College, Oxford.