It Is An Unpleasant Thing To Go

Every Bird Which Flies Has The Thread Of The Infinite In Its Claw.

. . .where There Is No More Hope, Song Remains.

Now Life Has Killed The Dream I Dreamed.

The Nearer I Approach The End, The Plainer I Hear Around Me The Immortal Symphonies Of The Worlds Which Invite Me. It Is Marvelous, Yet Simple.

A Man Is Not Idle Because He Is Absorbed In Thought. There Is A Visible Labor And There Is An Invisible Labor.