Our Prayers Should Be For A Sound

The Short Bloom Of Our Brief And Narrow Life Flies Fast Away. While We Are Calling For Flowers And Wine And Women, Old Age Is Upon Us. [lat., Festinat Enim Decurrere Velox Flosculus Angustae Miseraeque Brevissima Vitae Portico; Dum Bibimus Dum Sera Unguenta Puellas Poscimus Obrepit Non Intellecta Senectus.]

Many Suffer From The Incurable Disease Of Writing, And It Becomes Chronic In Their Sick Minds.

One Globe Seemed All Too Small For The Youthful Alexander.

The Noiseless Foot Of Tune Steals Swiftly By And Ere We Dream Of Manhood, Age Is Nigh.

The Love Of Popularity Holds You In A Vice.