All Our Words Are But Crumbs That

Doubt Is A Pain Too Lonely To Know That Faith Is His Twin Brother.

Some Who Are Too Scrupulous To Steal Your Possessions Nevertheless See No Wrong In Tampering With Your Thoughts.

Your Joy Is Your Sorrow Unmasked. And The Same Well From Which Your Laughter Rises Was Oftentimes Filled With Your Tears. And How Else Can It Be? The Deeper That Sorrow Carves Into Your Being, The More Joy You Can Contain. Is Not The Cup That Holds Your Wine The Very Cup That Was Burned In The Potter's Oven? And Is Not The Lute That Soothes Your Spirit, The Very Wood That Was Hollowed With Knives?

Yea, Death And Prison We Mete Out To Small Offenders Of The Laws, While Honor, Wealth, And Full Respect On Greater Pirates We Bestow. To Steal A Flower We Call Mean. To Rob A Field Is Chivalry; Who Kills The Body He Must Die, Who Kills The Spirit He Goes Free.

But If In Your Fear You Would Seek Only Love's Peace And Love's Pleasure, Then It Is Better For You That You Cover Your Nakedness And Pass Out Of Love's Threshing-floor, Into The Seasonless World Where You Shall Laugh, But Not All Of Your Laughter, And Weep, But Not All Of Your Tears.