Society Is A Masked Ball, Where Every

A Day Is A Miniature Eternity.

The Only Method To Possess A Buddy Is Always To Be One.

The South-wind Brings Life, Sunshine And Desire, And On Every Mount And Meadow Breathes Aromatic Fire; But Over The Dead He Has No Power, The Lost, The Lost, He Cannot Restore; And, Looking Over The Hills, I Mourn The Darling Who Shall Not Return.

You Cannot Institute, Without Peril Of Charlatanism.

Let Us Take Our Bloated Nothingness Out Of The Path Of The Divine Circuits.