Much Of Your Pain Is Self-chosen.

Yea, Death And Prison We Mete Out To Small Offenders Of The Laws, While Honor, Wealth, And Full Respect On Greater Pirates We Bestow. To Steal A Flower We Call Mean. To Rob A Field Is Chivalry; Who Kills The Body He Must Die, Who Kills The Spirit He Goes Free.

But You Who Walk Facing The Sun, What Images Drawn On The Earth Can Hold You?

Believing Is A Fine Thing, But Placing Those Beliefs Into Execution Is A Test Of Strength. Many Are Those Who Talk Like The Roar Of The Sea, Gut Their Lives Are Shallow And Stagnant, Like The Rotting Marshes. Many Are Those Who Lift Their Heads Above The Mountain Tops, But Their Spirits Remain Dormant In The Obscurity Of The Caverns.

Is Not The Beautiful Moon, That Inspires Poets, The Same Moon Which Angers The Silence Of The Sea With A Terrible Roar?

Life Unfolds Itself In Mysteries Ways.