The Joy Of A Strong

Honor Is An Old-world Thing; But It Smells Sweet To Those In Whose Hand It Is Strong.

Death! It Is Rest To The Aged, It Is Oblivion To The Atheist, It Is Immortality To The Poet!

Genius Cannot Escape The Taint Of Its Time More Than A Child The Influence Of Its Begetting.

Who Has Passed By The Fates Of Disillusion Has Died Twice.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.