Through the ages one increasing purpose runs.
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die
God's finger touched him, and he slept.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
Man's word is God in man.