Great Is The Art Of Beginning, But

If You Would Hit The Mark, You Must Aim A Little Above It.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.

And The Wind Plays On Those Great Sonorous Harps, The Shrouds And Masts Of Ships.

If We Could Read The Secret History Of Our Enemies.

Our Ingress Into The World Was Naked And Bare; Our Progress Through The World Is Trouble And Care.