The Silence Of The Envious Is Too

To Be Able To Look Back Upon Ones Life In Satisfaction, Is To Live Twice.

My Friends: Music Is The Language Of Spirits. Its Melody Is Like The Frolicsome Breeze That Makes The Strings Quiver With Love. When The Gentle Fingers Of Music Knock At The Door Of Our Feelings, They Awaken Memories That Have Long Lain Hidden In The Depths Of The Past. The Sad Strains Of Music Bring Us Mournful Recollections; And Her Quiet Strains Bring Us Joyful Memories. The Sound Of Strings Makes Us Weep At The Departure Of A Dear One, Or Makes Us Smile At The Peace God Has Bestowed Upon Us.

Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of You Would Be A Tomb?

My Friend, I Am Not What I Seem. Seeming Is But A Garment I Wear — A Care-woven Garment That Protects Me From Thy Questionings And Thee From My Negligence. The "i" In Me, My Friend, Dwells In The House Of Silence, And Therein It Shall Remain For Ever More, Unperceived, Unapproachable.

Half Of What I Say Is Meaningless; But I Say It So That The Other Half May Reach You.