“I saw our golden years on a black gale,our time of love spilt in the furious dust."O we are winter-caught, and we must fail,"said the dark dream, "and time is overcast."-And woke into the night; but you were there,and small as seed in the wild dark we lay.Small as seed under the gulfs of airis set the stubborn heart that waits for day.I saw our love the root that holds the vinein the enduring earth, that can reply,"Nothing shall die unless for me it die.Murder and hate and love alike are mine";and therefore fear no winter and no stormwhile in the knot of earth that root lies warm.”

“The love of money is the root of all evil, therefore selfishness must be the seed.”

“Even such is Time *Even such is Time, that takes in trustOur youth, our joys, our all we have,And pays us but with earth and dust;Who in the dark and silent grave,When we have wandered all our ways,Shuts up the story of our days:But from this earth, this grave, this dust,My God shall raise me up, I trust. Sir Walter Raleigh (1554-1618)*These lines are said to have been composed by Sir Walter Raleigh on the night before his execution.”

“AUTUMNAL Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss Seems little, dear! on days like these. Let misty autumn be our part! The twilight of the year is sweet: Where shadow and the darkness meet Our love, a twilight of the heart Eludes a little time's deceit. Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream. Beyond the pearled horizons lie Winter and night: awaiting these We garner this poor hour of ease, Until love turn from us and die Beneath the drear November trees.”

“- You are better, do not worry - she said. - In fact, when we light up our inner light, the first things we see are the cobwebs and dust, our weak points. They were there all the time, only you saw nothing in the darkness. Now it will be easier to cleanse your soul.”

“The eastward spurs tip backward from the sun.Nights runs an obscure tide round cape and bayand beats with boats of cloud up from the seaagainst this sheer and limelit granite head.Swallow the spine of range; be dark. O lonely air.Make a cold quilt across the bone and skullthat screamed falling in flesh from the lipped cliffand then were silent, waiting for the flies.Here is the symbol, and climbing darka time for synthesis. Night buoys no warningover the rocks that wait our keels; no bellssound for the mariners. Now must we measureour days by nights, our tropics by their poles,love by its end and all our speech by silence.See in the gulfs, how small the light of home.Did we not know their blood channelled our rivers,and the black dust our crops ate was their dust?O all men are one man at last. We should have knownthe night that tidied up the cliffs and hid themhad the same question on its tongue for us.And there they lie that were ourselves writ strange.Never from earth again the coolamonor thin black children dancing like the shadowsof saplings in the wind. Night lips the harshscarp of the tableland and cools its granite.Night floods us suddenly as historythat has sunk many islands in its good time.”