I Am A Feather For Each Wind

They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

What's Done Is Done. The Joy Is In The Doing.

What's In A Name? That Which We Call A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.

As True As Steel, As Plantage To The Moon, As Sun To Day, At Turtle To Her Mate, As Iron To Adamant, As Earth To Centre.

Receive What Cheer You May. The Night Is Long That Never Finds The Day.