And May We Find When Ended Is

All I Ask Is A Tall Ship And A Star To Sail Her By.

Life, A Beauty Chased By Tragic Laughter.

What Am I, Life? A Thing Of Watery Salt Held In Cohesion By Unresting Cells, Which Work They Know Not Why, Which Never Halt, Myself Unwitting Where Their Master Dwells?

Off Cape Horn There Are But Two Kinds Of Weather, Neither One Of Them A Pleasant Kind.

All The Great Things Of Life Are Swiftly Done, Creation, Death, And Love The Double Gate. However Much We Dawdle In The Sun We Have To Hurry At The Touch Of Fate.