And Forget Not That The Earth Delights

Is Not The Cup That Holds Your Wine The Very Cup That Was Burned In The Potter’s Oven?

Rebellion Without Truth Is Like Spring In A Bleak, Arid Desert.

You Talk When You Cease To Be At Peace With Your Thoughts; And When You Can No Longer Dwell In The Solitude Of Your Heart You Live In Your Lips, And Sound Is A Diversion And A Pastime. And In Much Of Your Talking, Thinking Is Half Murdered.

Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of You Would Be A Tomb?

My House Says To Me, "do Not Leave Me, For Here Dwells Your Past." And The Road Says To Me, "come And Follow Me, For I Am Your Future." And I Say To Both My House And The Road, "i Have No Past, Nor Have I A Future. If I Stay Here, There Is A Going In My Staying; And If I Go There Is A Staying In My Going. Only Love And Death Change All Things."