Life Is Too Short To

A Man Is The Facade Of A Temple Wherein All Wisdom And All Good Abide.

You Cannot See The Mountain Near.

The Word Unto The Prophet Spoken Was Writ On Tablets Yet Unbroken: The Word By Seers Or Sibyls Told, In Groves Of Oak Or Fanes Of Gold, Still Floats Upon The Morning Wind, Still Whispers To The Willing Mind.

Two Sorts Of Writers Possess Genius: Those Who Think, And Those Who Cause Others To Think.

The Hero Is Suffered To Be Himself.