How Shall The Soul Of A Man

Work For Your Own Soul's Sake.

The Dust's For Crawling, Heaven's For Flying, Wherefore, O Soul, Whose Wings Are Grown, Soar Upward To The Sun!

This Is Darrow, Inadequately Scrawled, With His Young, Old Heart, And His Drawl, And His Infinite Paradox And His Sadness, And Kindness, And His Artist Sense That Drives Him To Shape His Life To Something Harmonious, Even Against The Schemes Of God.

He Stripped Off The Armor Of Institutional Friendships To Dedictate His Soul To The Terrible Deities Of Truth And Beauty.

It Takes Life To Love Life.