They are the architects of greatness. Their vision lies within their souls. They never see the mirages of Fact, but peer beyond the veils and mists of doubt and pierce the walls of unborn Time. Makers of empire, they have fought for bigger things than crowns and higher seats than thrones They are the Argonauts, the seekers of the priceless fleece...the Truth. Through all the ages they have heard the voice of destiny call to them from the unknown vasts. Their brains have wrought all human miracles. In lace of stone their spires stab the Old World's skies and with their golden crosses kiss the sun. They are a chosen few...the blazers of the way...who never wear doubt's bandage on their eyes...who starve and chill and hurt, but hold to courage and to hope, because they know that there is always proof of truth for them who try...that only cowardice and lack of faith can keep the seeker from his chosen goal, but if his heart be strong and if he dream enough and dream it hard enough, he can attain, no matter where men failed before. Walls crumble and the empires fall. The tidal wave sweeps from the sea and tears a fortress from its rocks. The rotting nations drop from off Time's bough, and only things the dreamers make live on. They are the Eternal Conquerors...their vassals are the years. Herbert Kaufman
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