Memory Is The Mother Of All Wisdom.

The Burning Gaze Of A Young Woman, Such As Hath Tasted Man, Shall Not Escape Me; For I Have A Spirit Keen To Mark These Things.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.

The Great And Amorous Sky Curved Over The Earth, And Lay Upon Her As A Pure Lover. The Rain, The Humid Flux Descending From Heaven For Both Man And Animal, For Both Thick And Strong, Germinated The Wheat, Swelled The Furrows With Fecund Mud And Brought Forth The Buds In The Orchards. And It Is I Who Empowered These Moist Espousals, I The Great Aphrodite.

Long Tarries Destiny, But Comes To Those Who Pray.

What Good Is It To Live A Life That Brings Pains?