This Clay, So Strong Of Heart, Of

The Moving Finger Writes; And, Having Writ, Moves On: Nor All Your Piety Nor Wit Shall Lure It Back To Cancel Half A Line, Nor All Your Tears Wash Out A Word Of It.

By Fate Full Many A Heart Has Been Undone, And Many A Sprightly Rose Made Woe-begone; Plume Thee Not On Thy Lusty Youth And Strength: Full Many A Bud Is Blasted Ere Its Bloom.

By The Help Of God And With His Precious Assistance, I Say That Algebra Is A Scientific Art. The Objects With Which It Deals Are Absolute Numbers And Measurable Quantities Which, Though Themselves Unknown, Are Related To "things" Which Are Known, Whereby The Determination Of The Unknown Quantities Is Possible.

When You Are So Full Of Sorrow That You Can't Walk, Can't Cry Anymore, Think About The Green Foliage That Sparkles After The Rain. When The Daylight Exhausts You, When You Hope A Final Night Will Cover The World, Think About The Awakening Of A Young Child.

The Thoughtful Soul To Solitude Retires.