The Ruins Of Time Build Mansions In

Every Wolf's And Lion's Howl Raises From Hell A Human Soul.

Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

Where There Is Money There Is No Art.

Where Lambs Have Nibbled, Silent Moves The Feet Of Angels Bright; Unseen They Pour Blessing, And Joy Without Ceasing, On Each Bud And Blossom, And Each Sleeping Bosom.

Heaven Is In A Grain Of Sand.