He stepped outside and looked up at the stars swimming in schools through the wind-driven clouds.

To me, Garth, he&#39;s kind of like my guardian angel. It&#39;s like every time I need some help, he&#39;s there.

But least is he who, with enchanted eyes Filled with high visions of fair shapes to be, Muses which god he shall immortalize In the proud Parian’s perpetuity, Till twilight warns him from the punctual skies That the night cometh wherein none shall see.

All evil comes from the old. They grow fat on ideas and young men die of them.

Written By Jean Anouilh

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