Love And The Gentle Heart Are But

The Splendors That Belong Unto The Fame Of Earth Are But A Wind, That In The Same Direction Lasts Not Long.

Deed Done Is Well Begun.

Will Cannot Be Quenched Against Its Will.

The More A Thing Is Perfect, The More It Feels Pleasure And Likewise Pain.

There Sighs, Lamentations And Loud Wailings Resounded Through The Starless Air, So That At First It Made Me Weep; Strange Tongues, Horrible Language, Words Of Pain, Tones Of Anger, Voices Loud And Hoarse, And With These The Sound Of Hands, Made A Tumult Which Is Whirling Through That Air Forever Dark, And Sand Eddies In A Whirlwind.