I Follow My Heart, For I Can

Think With Awe On The Slow And Quiet Power Of Time.

Satisfied If They Themselves Can Escape From The Hard Labour Of Thought, They Willingly Abandon To Others The Guardianship Of Their Thoughts.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Fate Hath No Voice But The Heart's Impulse.

The Happy Man Does Not Notice The Flight Of Time.