Death Is The Ugly Fact

We Are Never Happy; We Can Only Remember That We Were So Once.

A Bottomless Pit Of Violence, A Tower Of Babel Where All Are Speakers And No Hearers.

We Have Two Lives; The Soul Of Man Is Like The Rolling World, One Half In Day, The Other Dipt In Night; The One Has Music And The Flying Cloud, The Other, Silence And The Wakeful Stars.

I Have Learned To Prize The Quiet, Lightning Deed, Not The Applauding Thunder At Its Heels That Men Call Fame.

To Be Occasionally Quoted Is The Only Fame I Care For.