Three Were The Fates. Poverty

Oft When The White, Still Dawn Lifted The Skies And Pushed The Hills Apart, I Have Felt It Like A Glory In My Heart.

The Sequoias Belong To The Silences Of The Milleniums. Many Of Them Have Seen A Hundred Human Generations Rise, Give Off Their Little Clamors And Perish. They Seem Indeed To Be Forms Of Immortality Standing Here Amoing The Transitory Shapes Of Time.

Choices Are The Hinges Of Destiny.

Sorrows Come To Stretch Out Places In The Heart For Joy.

He Drew A Circle That Shut Me Out- Heretic , Rebel, A Thing To Flout. But Love And I Had The Wit To Win: We Drew A Circle And Took Him In ! From The Poem " Outwitted