That Is Not It At All, That

I Said To My Soul, Be Still, And Wait Without Hope, For Hope Would Be Hope For The Wrong Thing.

The Eastern Light Our Spires Touch At Morning, The Light That Slants Upon Our Western Doors At Evening, The Twilight Over Stagnant Pools At Batflight, Moon Light And Star Light, Owl And Moth Light, Glow-worm Glowlight On A Grassblade. O Light Invisible, We Worship Thee!

Home Is Where One Starts From.

Those Who Arrive At The End Of The Journey Are Not Those Who Began.

Thus With Most Careful Devotion Thus With Precise Attention To Detail, Interfering Preparation Of That Which Is Already Prepared Men Lighten The Knot Of Confusion Into Perfect Misunderstanding, Reflecting A Pocket-torch Of Observation.