By Walking One Makes The Road, And

It Is Good Knowing That Glasses Are To Drink From; The Bad Thing Is Not To Know What Thirst Is For.

Between Living And Dreaming There Is A Third Thing. Guess It.

Wanderer, Your Footsteps Are The Road, And Nothing More; Wanderer, There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking. By Walking One Makes The Road, And Upon Glancing Behind One Sees The Path That Never Will Be Trod Again. Wanderer, There Is No Road-- Only Wakes Upon The Sea. Caminante, Son Tus Huellas El Camino, Y Nada Más; Caminante, No Hay Camino, Se Hace Camino Al Andar. Al Andar Se Hace Camino, Y Al Volver La Vista Atrás Se Ve La Senda Que Nunca Se Ha De Volver A Pisar. Caminante, No Hay Camino, Sino Estelas En La Mar.

Hell Is The Bloodcurdling Mansion Of Time, In Whose Profoundest Circle Satan Himself Waits, Winding A Gargantuan Watch In His Hand.

All Uncertainty Is Fruitfull ... So Long As It Is Accompanied By The Wish To Understand