Each Man Must Have His Own Special

I Am A Weak, Ephemeral Creature Made Of Mud And Dream. But I Feel All The Powers Of The Universe Whirling Within Me.

When Shall I At Last Retire Into Solitude Alone, Without Companions, Without Joy And Without Sorrow, With Only The Sacred Certainty That All Is A Dream? When, In My Rags—without Desires—shall I Retire Contented Into The Mountains? When, Seeing That My Body Is Merely Sickness And Crime, Age And Death, Shall I—free, Fearless, And Blissful—retire To The Forest? When? When, Oh When?

We Are Not Men, To Have Need Of Another, An Eternal Life; We Are Women, And For Us One Moment With Man We Love Is Everlasting Paradise, One Moment Far From The Man We Love Is Everlasting Hell. It Is Here On Earth That We Women Love Out Eternity

All My Life One Of My Greatest Desires Has Been To Travel-to See And Touch Unknown Countries, To Swim In Unknown Seas, To Circle The Globe, Observing New Lands, Seas, People, And Ideas With Insatiable Appetite, To See Everything For The First Time And For The Last Time, Casting A Slow, Prolonged Glance, Then To Close My Eyes And Feel The Riches Deposit Themselves Inside Me Calmly Or Stormily According To Their Pleasure, Until Time Passes Them At Last Through Its Fine Sieve, Straining The Quintessence Out Of All The Joys And Sorrows.

We Have Seen The Highest Circle Of Spiraling Powers. We Have Named This Circle God. We Might Have Given It Any Other Name We Wished: Abyss, Mystery, Absolute Darkness, Absolute Light, Matter, Spirit, Ultimate Hope, Ultimate Despair, Silence.