Follow Your Path, And Let The People

O Human Race, Born To Fly Upward, Wherefore At A Little Wind Dost Thou So Fall?

No Man May Be So Cursed By Priest Or Pope But What The Eternal Love May Still Return While Any Thread Of Green Lives On In Hope.

Fate's Arrow, When Expected, Travels Slow.

Seldom Indeed Does Human Virtue Rise From Trunk To Branch.

Oh Foolish Desires Of Mortals! How Weak Are The Reasons That Lead Us To Not Take Off Our Flight From The Ground.