And All The Air Is Filled With

A Millstone And The Human Heart Are Driven Ever Round, If They Have Nothing Else To Grind, They Must Themselves Be Ground.

Dreams Or Illusions, Call Them What You Will, They Lift Us From The Commonplace Of Life To Better Things.

The Bravest Are The Tenderest.

A Word That Has Been Said May Be Unsaid-it Is But Air. But When A Deed Is Done, It Cannot Be Undone, Nor Can Our Thoughts Reach Out To All The Mischiefs That May Follow.

Not Chance Of Birth Or Place Has Made Us Friends, Being Oftentimes Of Different Tongues And Nations, But The Endeavor For The Selfsame Ends, With The Same Hopes, And Fears, And Aspirations.