But I Will Place This Carefully Fed

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.

From A Small Seed A Mighty Trunk May Grow.

For Mortal Kind Taketh Thought Only For The Day, And Hath No More Surety Than The Shadow Of Smoke.

Words Are The Physicians Of A Mind Diseased.

The Air Is Zeus, Zeus Earth, And Zeus The Heaven, Zeus All That Is, And What Transcends Them All.