Music Is A Strange Thing. I Would

We Should Forgive Our Enemies, But Not Before They Are Hanged

The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip Lightly In Frolicsome Mood.

Where Books Are Burnt, Men Finish Up Being Burnt Too.

Where Words Cease, There Music Begins.

My Heart Resembles The Ocean; Has Storm, And Ebb And Flow; And Many A Beautiful Pearl Lies Hid In Its Depths Below.