The Hands Are The Heart's Messengers.

Impatience Is The Mark Of Independence, Not Of Bondage.

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.

Which Of Us Has Not Been Stunned By The Beauty Of An Animal's Skin Or Its Flexibility In Motion?

A Symbol From The First, Of Mastery, Experiments Such As Hippocrates Made And Substituted For Vague Speculation Stayed The Ravages Of Plague.

We Are What We Were At Birth, And Each Trait Has Remained In Conformity With Earth's And With Heaven's Logic: Be The Devil's Tool, Resort To Black Magic, None Can Diverge From The Ends Which Heaven Foreordained.