As For The Girl, Since She Is

Man Doeth This And Doeth That From The Good Or Evil Of His Heart; But He Knows Not To What End His Sense Doth Prompt Him; For When He Strikes He Is Blind To Where The Blow Shall Fall, Nor Can He Count The Airy Threads That Weave The Web Of Circumstance. Good And Evil, Love And Hate, Night And Day, Sweet And Bitter, Man And Woman, Heaven Above And The Earth Beneath--all Those Things Are Needful, One To The Other, And Who Knows The End Of Each?

We Were Like Confirmed Opium-eaters: In Our Moments Of Reason We Well Knew The Deadly Nature Of Our Pursuit, But We Certainly Were Not Prepared To Abandon Its Terrible Delights.

The Great Wheel Of Fate Rolls On Like A Juggernaut, And Crushes Us All In Turn, Some Soon, Some Late

Yea, All Things Live Forever, Though At Times They Sleep And Are Forgotten.

We May Taste Of Every Turn Of Chance - Now Rule As Kings, Now Serve As Slaves; Now Love, Now Hate; Now Prosper, And Now Perish. But Still, Through All, We Are The Same; For This Is The Marvel Of Identity.