It Is Only Through The Morning Gate

Most Gladly Would I Give The Blood-stained Laurel For The First Violet Which March Brings Us, The Fragrant Pledge Of The New-fledged Year.

The Reason For You Complaint Lies, It Seems To Me, In The Constraint Which Your Intellect Imposes Upon Your Imagination. Here I Will Make An Observation, And Illustrate It By An Allegory. Apparently, It Is Not Good-and Indeed It Hinders The Creative Work Of The Mind-if The If The Intellect Examines Too Closely The Ideas Pouring In, As It Were, At The Gates.

Only The Soldier Is A Free Man, Because He Can Look Death In The Face.

Of All The Possessions Of This Life Fame Is The Noblest; When The Body Has Sunk Into The Dust The Great Name Still Lives.

Nothing Leads To Good That Is Not Natural.