Nothing Mortal Is Enduring, And There Is

Man Has Not A Greater Enemy Than Himself.

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

Each Famous Author Of Antiquity Whom I Recover Places A New Offence And Another Cause Of Dishonor To The Charge Of Earlier Generations, Who, Not Satisfied With Their Own Disgraceful Barrenness, Permitted The Fruit Of Other Minds, And The Writings That Their Ancestors Had Produced By Toil And Application, To Perish Through Insufferable Neglect. Although They Had Nothing Of Their Own To Hand Down To Those Who Were To Come After, They Robbed Posterity Of Its Ancestral Heritage.

The Time Will Come When Every Change Shall Cease, This Quick Revolving Wheel Shall Rest In Peace: No Summer Then Shall Glow, Not Winter Freeze; Nothing Shall Be To Come, And Nothing Past, But An Eternal Now Shall Ever Last.

Hope Is Incredible To The Slave Of Grief.