Success! To Thee, As To A God,

My Will Is Mine...i Shall Not Make It Soft For You.

Bonds And The Pangs Of Hunger Are Excellent Prophet Doctors For The Wits.

For The Impious Act Begets More After It, Like To The Parent Stock.

A Prosperous Fool Is A Grievous Burden.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.