Life Is The Mistress To Be Wooed.

And When You Have Reached The Mountain Top, Then You Shall Begin To Climb.

Keep Me Away From The Wisdom Which Does Not Cry, The Philosophy Which Does Not Laugh And The Greatness Which Does Not Bow Before Children.

A Look Which Reveals Inward Stress Adds More Beauty To The Face, No Matter How Much Tragedy And Pain It Bespeaks; But The Face Which, In Silence, Does Not Announce Hidden Mysteries Is Not Beautiful, Regardless Of The Symmetry Of Its Features.

The Wolves Prey Upon The Lambs In The Darkness Of The Night, But The Blood Stains Remain Upon The Stones In The Valley Until The Dawn Comes, And The Sun Reveals The Crime To All.

You Talk When You Cease To Be At Peace With Your Thoughts; And When You Can No Longer Dwell In The Solitude Of Your Heart You Live In Your Lips, And Sound Is A Diversion And A Pastime. And In Much Of Your Talking, Thinking Is Half Murdered.