He Who Shall Hurt The Little Wren

Art Is The Tree Of Life. Science Is The Tree Of Death.

Nature In Darkness Groans And Men Are Bound To Sullen Contemplation In The Night: Restless They Turn On Beds Of Sorrow; In Their Inmost Brain Feeling The Crushing Wheels, They Rise, They Write The Bitter Words Of Stern Philosophy And Knead The Bread Of Knowledge With Tears And Groans.

Can I See A Falling Tear, And Not Feel My Sorrow's Share?

There Can Be No Good Will. Will Is Always Evil; It Is Persecution To Others Or Selfishness.

No Bird Soars Too High If He Soars With His Own Wings.