I Am More Afraid Of Deserving Criticism

Sang In Tones Of Deep Emotion Songs Of Love And Songs Of Longing.

Dead He Is Not, But Departed, For The Artist Never Dies.

It Is True, That It Is Not At All Necessary To Love Many Books, In Order To Love Them Much.

That Which The Fountain Sends Forth Returns Again To The Fountain.

The Day Is Done, And The Darkness Falls From The Wings Of Night, As A Feather Is Wafted Downward From An Eagle In His Flight.