Joy Steals Upon Me, Such Joy As

The Act Of Evil Breeds Others To Follow, Young Sins In Its Own Likeness.

In The Sinews Of The Dead There Is No Blood.

Long Tarries Destiny, But Comes To Those Who Pray.

For In The Voyage Of The Heart, There Is A Freight Of Hatred, And The Wind Of Wrath Blows Shrill.

Memory Is The Mother Of All Wisdom.