Time Dissipates To Shining Ether The Solid

Every Man's Task [his 'great Dream' And Impassioned Life-goal] Is His Life Preserver.

Virtue Runs Before The Muse, And Defies Her Skill; She Is Rapt And Doth Refuse To Wait A Painter's Will.

Sleep Takes Off The Costume Of Circumstance, Arms Us With Terrible Freedom, So That Every Will Rushes To Deed. A Skillful Man Reads His Dreams For His Self-knowledge; Yet Not The Details, But The Quality. What Part Does He Play In Them - A Cheerful, Manly Part, Or A Poor, Drivelling Part? However Monstrous And Grotesque Their Apparitions, They Have A Substantial Truth.

I'm Happier. I Guess I Made Up My Mind To Be That Way.

In Youth, We Clothe Ourselves With Rainbows, And Go As Brave As The Zodiac.