To A Gargoyle On The Ramparts Of

A Library Implies An Act Of Faith Which Generations, Still In Darkness Hid, Sign In Their Night In Witness Of The Dawn.

They Say Love Is Blindness Of Heart; I Say Not To Love Is Blindness.

Good Actions Are The Invisible Hinges On The Doors Of Heaven.

They Adored Each Other; But Still The Permanent And The Immutable Subsist. We May Love And Laugh, Pout, Clasp Hands, Smile, And Exchange Endearments, But That Does Not Affect Eternity. Two Lovers Hide In The Dusk Of Evening, Amid Flowers And The Twittering Of Birds, And Enchant Each Other With Their Hearts Shinning In Their Eyes; But The Stars In Their Course Still Circle Through Infinite Space.

Scepticism, That Dry Caries Of The Intelligence.