The Heart Desires, The Hand

No Man Is Good Enough To Be Another's Master.

Love Is Enough Love Is Enough: Though The World Be A-waning, And The Woods Have No Voice But The Voice Of Complaining, Though The Skies Be Too Dark For Dim Eyes To Discover The Gold-cups And Daisies Fair Blooming Thereunder, Though The Hills Be Held Shadows, And The Sea A Dark Wonder, And This Day Draw A Veil Over All Deeds Passed Over, Yet Their Hands Shall Not Tremble, Their Feet Shall Not Falter: The Void Shall Not Weary, The Fear Shall Not Alter These Lips And These Eyes Of The Loved And The Lover.

From Out The Throng And Stress Of Lies, From Out The Painful Noise Of Sighs, One Voice Of Comfort Seems To Rise: "it Is The Meaner Part That Dies."

It Has Become An Article Of The Creed Of Modern Morality That All Labour Is Good In Itself -- A Convenient Belief To Those Who Live On The Labour Of Others. But As To Those On Whom They Live, I Recommend Them Not To Take It On Trust, But To Look Into The Matter A Little Deeper.

A Pattern Is Either Right Or Wrong...it Is No Stronger Than Its Weakest Point.