"Where lurk sweet echoes of the dear homevoices, Each note of which calls like a little sister, Those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smokewreaths Rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets Cyrano Act 5."

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There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,Can circumvent or hinder or controlThe firm resolve of a determined soul.Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;All things give way before it soon or late.What obstacle can stay the mighty forceOf the sea seeking river in its course,Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox