I Was Not Born To Amuse The

I’ve Lived To Bury My Desires, And See My Dreams Corrode With Rust; Now All That’s Left Are Fruitless Fires That Burn My Empty Heart To Dust.

The Less We Show Our Love To A Woman, Or Please Her Less, And Neglect Our Duty, The More We Trap And Ruin Her Surely, In The Flattering Toils Of Philandery.

Love Passed, The Muse Appeared, The Weather Of Mind Got Clarity New-found; Now Free, I Once More Weave Together Emotion, Thought, And Magic Sound.

Inspiration Is Needed In Geometry, Just As Much As In Poetry.

It's A Lucky Man, A Very Lucky Man, Who Is Committed To What He Believes, Who Has Stifled Intellectual Detachment And Can Relax In The Luxury Of His Emotions - Like A Tipsy Traveller Resting For The Night At Wayside Inn.