The Human Voice Is The Organ Of

I Venerate Old Age; And I Love Not The Man Who Can Look Without Emotion Upon The Sunset Of Life, When The Dusk Of Evening Begins To Gather Over The Watery Eye, And The Shadows Of Twilight Grow Broader And Deeper Upon The Understanding.

And As She Looked Around, She Saw How Death The Consoler, Laying His Hand Upon Many A Heart, Had Healed It Forever.

They Who Go Feel Not The Pain Of Parting; It Is They Who Stay Behind That Suffer.

It Is The Heart And Not The Brain, That To The Highest Doth Attain.

Great Is The Art Of Beginning, But Greater Is The Art Of Ending.