At The Heart Of The Cyclone Tearing

Bowed By The Weight Of Centuries He Leans Upon His Hoe And Gazes On The Ground, The Emptiness Of Ages In His Face, And On His Back The Burden Of The World.

By A Divine Paradox, Wherever There Is One Slave There Are Two

For All Your Days Be Prepared, And Meet Them Ever Alike. When You Are The Anvil, Bear - When You Are The Hammer, Strike.

That In The Human Plan Nothing Is Worth The Making If It Does Not Make The Man.

The Sequoias Belong To The Silences Of The Milleniums. Many Of Them Have Seen A Hundred Human Generations Rise, Give Off Their Little Clamors And Perish. They Seem Indeed To Be Forms Of Immortality Standing Here Amoing The Transitory Shapes Of Time.