Those Who Give You A Serpent When

The Silence Of The Envious Is Too Noisy.

We Wanderers, Ever Seeking The Lonelier Way, Begin No Day Where We Have Ended Another, And No Sunrise Finds Us Where Left By Sunset. Even While The Earth Sleeps We Travel. We Are The Seeds Of That Tenacious Plant, And It Is In Our Ripeness And Our Fullness Of Heart That We Are Given To The Wind To Be Scattered.

Beauty Is Eternity Gazing At Itself In A Mirror.

The Optimist Sees The Rose And Not Its Thorns; The Pessimist Stares At The Thorns, Oblivious To The Rose.

Advance, And Never Halt, For Advancing Is Perfection. Advance And Do Not Fear The Thorns In The Path, For They Draw Only Corrupt Blood.