Drive Your Cart And Plow Over The

Little Fly, Thy Summer's Play My Thoughtless Hand Has Brushed Away. Am Not I A Fly Like Thee? Or Art Not Thou A Man Like Me? For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing!

Without Contraries There Is No Progression.

God Appears, And God Is Light, To Those Poor Souls Who Dwell In Night; But Does A Human Form Display To Those Who Dwell In Realms Of Day.

Pity Would Be No More, If We Did Not Make Somebody Poor. Mercy No More Could Be, If All Were Happy As We.

Jesus & His Apostles & Disciples Were All Artists