I Was Not Born To Amuse The

I’ve Lived To Bury My Desires, And See My Dreams Corrode With Rust; Now All That’s Left Are Fruitless Fires That Burn My Empty Heart To Dust.

In This, Our Age Of Infamy Man's Choice Is But To Be A Tyrant, Traitor, Prisoner: No Other Choice Has He.

Unrequited Love Is Not An Affront To Man But Raises Him.

There Yet Remains But One Concluding Tale, And Then This Chronicle Of Mine Is Ended - Fulfilled, The Duty God Ordained To Me, A Sinner. Not Without Purpose Did The Lord, Put Me To Witness Much For Many Years, And Educate Me In The Love Of Books. One Day Some Indefatigable Monk, Will Find My Conscientious, Unsigned Work; Like Me, He Will Light Up His Ikon-lamp, And, Shaking From The Scroll The Age-old Dust, He Will Transcribe These Tales In All Their Truth.

Ballet Is A Dance Executed By The Human Soul.