Think Not Because No Man Sees, Such

Music Is The Universal Language Of Mankind.

The Day Is Dark And Cold And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind Is Never Weary.

The True Poet Is A Friendly Man. He Takes To His Arms Even Cold And Inanimate Things, And Rejoices In His Heart.

The Great Tragedy Of The Average Man Is That He Goes To His Grave With His Music Still In Him.

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.