By What Men Think, We Create The

And So, Perhaps, The Truth Winds Somewhere Between The Road To Glastonbury, Isle Of The Priests, And The Road To Avalon, Lost Forever In The Mists Of The Summer Sea.

Flowers And Fruit Are Only The Beginning. In The Seed Lies The Life And The Future.

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.

I Never Left You; I Never Will Leave You. While Life Lasts, And Beyond, I Am Here.

There Is No Sorrow Like The Memory Of Love And The Knowledge That It Is Gone Forever.