Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country's cause.
The sun rose on the flawless brimming sea into a sky all brazen-all one brightening for gods immortal and for mortal men on plowlands kind with grain.
Immortals are never alien to one another.
Once you go Vatican, you never go back again.
There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.
I want answers now or I want them eventually!