Man Has Not A Greater

The Greater I Am, The Greater Shall Be My Efforts.

Hope Is Incredible To The Slave Of Grief.

Go, Grieving Rimes Of Mine, To That Hard Stone Whereunder Lies My Darling, Lies My Dear, And Cry To Her To Speak From Heaven's Sphere.

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

There Is No Lighter Burden, Nor More Agreeable, Than A Pen. Other Pleasures Fail Us Or Wound Us While They Charm, But The Pen We Take Up Rejoicing And Lay Down With Satisfaction, For It Has The Power To Advantage Not Only Its Lord And Master, But Many Others As Well, Even Though They Be Far Away - Sometimes, Indeed, Though They Be Not Born For Thousands Of Years To Come.