There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.

God is the perfect poet.

When is man strong until he feels alone?

But there are times when patience proves at fault.

Our aspirations are our responsibilities.

How good is man's life, the mere living! How fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?