It Is Fine To Stand Upon Some

The Death-change Comes. Death Is Another Life. We Bow Our Heads At Going Out, We Think, And Enter Straight Another Golden Chamber Of The King's Larger Than This We Leave, And Lovelier. And Then In Shadowy Glimpses, Disconnect, The Story, Flower-like, Closes Thus Its Leaves. The Will Of God Is All In All. He Makes, Destroys, Remakes, For His Own Pleasure, All.

Worthy Books Are Not Companions – They Are Solitudes: We Lose Ourselves In Them And All Our Cares.

Who Can Mistake Great Thoughts? They Seize Upon The Mind; Arrest And Search, And Shake It; Bow The Tall Soul As By Wind; Rush Over It Like A River Reeds.

Let Us Think Less Of Men And More Of God.

Death Is The Universal Salt Of States; Blood Is The Base Of All Things--law And War.