Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free.

Until We Are All Free, We Are None Of Us Free.

Not Like The Brazen Giant Of Greek Fame, With Conquering Limbs Astride From Land To Land; Here At Our Sea-washed, Sunset Gates Shall Stand A Mighty Woman With A Torch, Whose Flame Is The Imprisoned Lightning, And Her Name Mother Of Exiles.

Still Ours The Dance, The Feast, The Glorious Psalm, The Mystic Lights Of Emblem, And The Word.

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.