No Sacred Fane Requires Us To Submit

Upon The Creatures We Have Made, We Are, Ourselves, At Last, Dependent.

What A Day It Is When We Must Envy The Men In Their Graves.

War Is In Truth A Disease In Which The Juices That Serve Health And Maintenance Are Used For The Sole Purpose Of Nourishing Something Foreign, Something At Odds With Nature.

Wherever A Man May Happen To Turn, Whatever A Man May Undertake, He Will Always End Up By Returning To That Path Which Nature Has Marked Out For Him.

What Is Not Started Today Is Never Finished Tomorrow.