You Throw The Sand Against The Wind

The Wrath Of The Lion Is The Wisdom Of God.

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

There Is No Mistake So Great As The Mistake Of Not Going On.

Joy And Woe Are Woven Fine.

Where Any View Of Money Exists, Art Cannot Be Carried On.