It Has Done Me Good To Be

If We Could Read The Secret History Of Our Enemies.

The Holiest Of Holidays Are Those Kept By Ourselves In Silence And Apart; The Secret Anniversaries Of The Heart.

Nothing That Is Can Pause Or Stay.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.

There Is Nothing Perfectly Secure But Poverty.