A Sky Full Of Silent

The End We Aim At Must Be Known, Before The Way Can Be Made.

Each Departed Friend Is A Magnet That Attracts Us To The Next World.

Gray Hairs Seem To My Fancy Like The Soft Light Of The Moon, Silvering Over The Evening Of Life.

There Is A Joy In Sorrow Which None But A Mourner Can Know.

People Will Not Bear It When Advice Is Violently Given, Even If It Is Well Founded. Hearts Are Flowers; They Remain Open To The Softly Falling Dew, But Shut Up In The Violent Downpour Of Rain.