In The Carriages Of The Past, You

Our Salvation Is In Work, But Let Us Also Take Delight In That Work.

Let Us Not Search For The Guilty Ones Only Among Others, Let Us Speak The Bitter Truth: We Are All Guilty ... Each And Every One Of Us.

Lies Are The Religion Of Slaves And Masters. Truth Is The God Of The Free Man.

There's A Little Book I'm Thinking Of Writing - "swan Song" Is What I Shall Call It. The Song Of The Dying. And My Book Will Be Incense Burnt At The Deathbed Of This Society, Damned With The Damnation Of Its Own Impotence.

It Is Quiet And Peaceful Here, The Air Is Good, There Are Numerous Gardens, And In Them Nightingales Sing And Spies Lurk Under The Bushes.