Death Is The Most Blessed Dream.

The Strides Of Humanity Are Slow, They Can Only Be Counted In Centuries.

We Are Always On Stage, Even When We Are Stabbed In Earnest At The End.

Only One Thing Abides: An Infinite Beauty That Passes From Form To Form, Eternally Changed And Revealed Afresh.

A Good Man With A Good Conscience Doesn't Walk So Fast.

And For Tired Eyes Every Light Is Too Bright, And For Tired Lips Every Breath Too Heavy, And For Tired Ears Every Word Too Much.