Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime.
Not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.
Fortune is the rod of the weak, and the staff of the brave.
To fail at all is to fail utterly.
And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days.
Love lives on, and hath a power to bless when they who loved are hidden in the grave.