In The End Is My Beginning.

No Artist Produces Great Art By A Deliberate Attempt To Express His Own Personality.

His Laughter Tinkled Among The Teacups.

Because I Do Not Hope To Turn Again Because I Do Not Hope Because I Do Not Hope To Turn Desiring This Man's Gift And That Man's Scope I No Longer Strive To Strive Towards Such Things (why Should The Aged Eagle Stretch Its Wings?) Why Should I Mourn The Vanished Power Of The Usual Reign?

Simple And Faithless As A Smile And Shake Of The Hand.

The Past And Future / Are Conquered, And Reconciled.