The Best Wine Is The Oldest, The

Those Who Restrain Desire, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained.

Father, O Father! What Do We Here In This Land Of Unbelief And Fear?

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

Do What You Will This Life's A Fiction, And Is Made Up Of Contradiction.

He Who Shall Teach The Child To Doubtthe Rotting Grave Shall Ne'er Get Out.