They Who Forgive Most Shall Be Most

And I Made A Rural Pen, And I Stained The Water Clear, And I Wrote My Happy Songs Every Child May Joy To Hear.

He Whose Face Gives No Light, Shall Never Become A Star.

Naught Can Deform The Human Race Like To The Armor's Iron Brace.

The Imagination Is Not A State: It Is The Human Existence Itself.

Why Cannot The Ear Be Closed To Its Own Destruction? Or The Glistening Eye To The Poison Of A Smile?