Arthur, Their Young King, Like A Hero

A Babe At The Breast Is As Much Pleasure As The Bearing Is Pain.

Rome Was Mud And Smoky Skies; The Rank Smell Of The Tiber And The Exotically Spiced Cooking Fires Of A Hundred Different Nationalities. Rome Was White Marble And Gilding And Heady Perfumes; The Blare Of Trumpets And The Shrieking Of Market-women And The Eternal, Sub-aural Hum Of More People, Speaking More Languages Than Gaius Had Ever Imagined Existed, Crammed Together On Seven Hills Whose Contours Had Long Ago Disappeared Beneath This Encrustation If Humanity. Rome Was The Pulsing Heart Of The World.

A Friend Of Ours Has A Hobby Doing Genealogy, And We Found Out That We Were Cousins In The Ninth Degree, That We Had A Common Ancestor On The Mayflower.

If You Would Have The Message Of The Gods To Direct Your Life, Look For That Which Repeats ... It Comes Again And Again Until You Have Made It Part Of Your Soul And Your Enduring Spirit.

... But I Believe The Divine Ones Will Send Other Great Masters To Preach The Truth To Mankind, And That Mankind Will Always Receive Them With The Cross And The Fire And The Stones