Death Was The Price Of Life.

The Perpetual Stream Of Human Nature Is Formed Into Ever-changing Shallows, Eddies, Falls And Pools By The Land Over Which It Passes. Perhaps The Only Real Value Of History Lies In Considering This Endlessly Varied Play Between The Essence And The Accidents.

All Tragedies Deal With Fated Meetings; How Else Could There Be A Play? Fate Deals Its Stroke; Sorrow Is Purged, Or Turned To Rejoicing; There Is Death, Or Triumph; There Has Been A Meeting, And A Change. No One Will Ever Make A Tragedy - And That Is As Well, For One Could Not Bear It - Whose Grief Is That The Principals Never Met.

Death Was The Price Of Life.

I Was A King And A King's Heir And Now I Am A Slave.

By Her Shining And Her Power He Knew Her.