The World No Longer Lets

Flesh Of My Flesh, Bone Of My Bone, I Here, Though There, Yet Both But One.

To Sing Of Wars, Of Captains, And Of Kings/of Cities Founded, Common-wealths Begun/for My Mean Pen Are Too Superior Things.

Youth Is The Time Of Getting, Middle Age Of Improving, And Old Age Of Spending.

If We Had No Winter, The Spring Would Not Be So Pleasant.

We Must, Therefore, Be Here As Strangers And Pilgrims, That We May Plainly Declare That We Seek A City Above.