In The Image Of The Lion Made

Oh Fair, Oh Sweet And Holy As Dew At Morning Tide, I Gaze On Thee, And Yearnings, Sad In My Bosom Hide.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

Never Let A Fool Kiss You, Or A Kiss Fool You. Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses!

The Foolish Race Of Mankind Are Swarming Below In The Night; They Shriek And Rage And Quarrel - And All Of Them Are Right.

While We Are Indifferent To Our Good Qualities, We Keep On Deceiving Ourselves In Regard To Our Faults, Until We Come To Look On Them As Virtues.