The Gods At Will Can

Joy Steals Upon Me, Such Joy As Calls Forth Tears.

Memory Is The Mother Of All Wisdom.

And Now It Goes As It Goes And Where It Ends Is Fate. And Neither By Singeing Flesh Nor Tipping Cups Of Wine Nor Shedding Burning Tears Can You Enchant Away The Rigid Fury.

Human Prosperity Never Rests But Always Craves More, Till Blown Up With Pride It Totters And Falls. From The Opulent Mansions Pointed At By All Passers-by None Warns It Away, None Cries, 'let No More Riches Enter!'.

Words Are The Physicians Of A Mind Diseased.