But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
Praise, more divine than prayer; prayer points our ready path to heaven; praise is already there.
Affliction is the good man's shining scene; prosperity conceals his brightest ray; as night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
Pity swells the tide of love.
Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?