Mere Elegance Of Language Can Produce At

Death Is A Sleep That Ends Our Dreaming. Oh, That We May Be Allowed To Wake Before Death Wakes Us.

And Tears Are Heard Within The Harp I Touch.

Virtue Is Health, Vice Is Sickness.

Great Errors Seldom Originate But With Men Of Great Minds.

For Though I Am A Body Of This Earth, My Firm Desire Is Born From The Stars.