I Suppose The Human Race Is Doing

For All Of The Creeds Are False, And All Of The Creeds Are True; And Low At The Shrines Where My Brothers Bow, There Will I Bow Too; For No Form Of A God, And No Fashion Man Has Made In His Desperate Passion, But Is Worthy Some Worship Of Mine; Not Too Hot With A Gross Belief, Nor Yet Too Cold With Pride, I Will Bow Me Down Where My Brothers Bow, Humble, But Open Eyed.

I Have Often Noticed That Ancestors Never Boast Of The Descendants Who Boast Of Ancestors. I Would Rather Start A Family Than Finish One. Blood Will Tell, But Often It Tells Too Much.

A Fierce Unrest Seethes At The Core, Of All Existing Things:, It Was The Eager Wish To Soar, That Gave The Gods Their Wings.

What Man Calls Civilization Always Results In Deserts.

The Art Of Newspaper Paragraphing Is To Stroke A Platitude Until It Purrs Like An Epigram.