The only real journey is the one within.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
The great and chief end, therefore, of men's uniting into commonwealths, and putting themselves under government, is the preservation of their property.
The act of writing is an act of love.