Words Are The Parents Of A Causeless

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

To Learn Is To Be Young, However Old.

Justice Shines In Very Smoky Homes, And Honors The Righteous; But The Gold-spangled Mansions Where The Hands Are Unclean She Leaves With Eyes Averted.

The Field Of Doom Bears Death As Its Harvest.

The Words Of Truth Are Simple.