A Goal Without A Pan Is Just

Loneliness Is Bred Of A Mind That Has Grown Earth-bound.

The Tree Is More Than First A Seed, Then A Stem, Then A Living Trunk, And Then Dead Timber. The Tree Is A Slow, Enduring Force Straining To Win The Sky.

True Love Is Visible Not To The Eyes But To The Heart, For Eyes May Be Deceived.

What Was My Body To Me? A Kind Of Flunkey In My Service. Let But My Anger Wax Hot, My Love Grow Exalted, My Hatred Collect In Me, And That Boasted Solidarity Between Me And My Body Was Gone.

A Man's Age Represents A Fine Cargo Of Experiences And Memories.