Lost Love Is Still Love.

I Am Every Age, Up To My Own.

Scenery Without Solace Is Meaningless.

As Mankind Grew Obsessed With Its Hours, The Sorrow Of Lost Time Became A Permanent Hole In The Human Heart. People Fretted Over Missed Chances, Over Inefficient Days; They Worried Constantly About How Long They Would Live, Because Counting Life’s Moments Had Led, Inevitably, To Counting Them Down. Soon, In Every Nation And In Every Language, Time Became The Most Precious Commodity.

Belief, Hard Work, Love–you Have Those Things, You Can Do Anything.

That's What Heaven Is. You Get To Make Sense Of Your Yesterdays