Where Words Cease, There Music

Lyrical Poetry Is Much The Same An Every Age, As The Songs Of The Nightingales In Every Spring-time.

Graves They Say Are Warm'd By Glory; Foolish Words And Empty Story.

Wherever They Burn Books They Will Also, In The End, Burn Human Beings.

As The Stars Are The Glory Of The Sky, So Great Men Are The Glory Of Their Country, Yea, Of The Whole Earth. The Hearts Of Great Men Are The Stars Of Earth; And Doubtless When One Looks Down From Above Upon Our Planet, These Hearts Are Seen To Send Forth, A Silvery Light Just Like The Stars Of Heaven.

I Live, Which Is The Main Point.