"Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted." — Percy Bysshe Shelley

The soul's joy lies in doing.

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.