Every Crime Destroys More Edens Than Our

Echo Is The Voice Of A Reflection In A Mirror.

I Do Detest All Offices - All, At Least, That Are Held On A Political Tenure.

She Poured Out The Liquid Music Of Her Voice To Quench The Thirst Of His Spirit.

When The Artist Rises High Enough To Achieve The Beautiful, The Symbol By Which He Makes It Perceptible To Mortal Senses Becomes Of Little Value In His Eyes, While His Spirit Possesses Itself In The Enjoyment Of The Reality.

The Present Is Burthened Too Much With The Past.