These Have Not The Hope To Die.

For Where The Instrument Of Intelligence Is Added To Brute Power And Evil Will, Mankind Is Powerless In Its Own Defense.

The More A Thing Is Perfect, The More It Feels Pleasure And Likewise Pain.

No Man May Be So Cursed By Priest Or Pope But What The Eternal Love May Still Return While Any Thread Of Green Lives On In Hope.

The Customs And Fashions Of Men Change Like Leaves On The Bough, Some Of Which Go And Others Come.

Do Not Desert Me When I Need You Most. And If We Can't Go On Together, Let's Retrace Our Steps As Quickly As We Can.