Inexperience Loves To Preach.

Three Kinds Of Souls, Three Prayers: 1) I Am A Bow In Your Hands, Lord. Draw Me, Lest I Rot. 2) Do Not Overdraw Me, Lord. I Shall Break. 3) Overdraw Me, Lord, And Who Cares If I Break.

I Should Learn To Run, To Wrestle, To Swim, To Ride Horses, To Row, To Drive A Car, To Fire A Rifle. I Should Fill My Soul With Flesh. I Should Fill My Flesh With Soul. In Fact, I Should Reconcile At Last Within Me The Two Internal Antagonists.

The Highest Point A Man Can Attain Is Not Knowledge, Or Virtue, Or Goodness, Or Victory, But Something Even Greater, More Heroic And More Despairing: Sacred Awe!

I Heard The Bells From The Future Churches, The Children Playing And Laughing In The Schoolyards [...] And Here Was An Almond Tree In Bloom Before Me: I Must Reach Out And Cut A Flowering Branch. For, By Believing Passionately In Something Which Still Does Not Exist, We Create It. The Nonexistent Is Whatever We Have Not Sufficiently Desired, Whatever We Have Not Irrigated With Our Blood To Such A Degree That It Becomes Strong Enough To Stride Across The Somber Threshold Of Nonexistence.

A Magical Portal Opened Inside My Mind And Conducted Me Into An Astonishing World. [...] Before This Moment I Had Divined But Had Never Known With Such Positiveness That The World Is Extremely Large And That Suffering And Toil Are The Companions And Fellow Warriors Not Only Of Cretan, But Of Every Man. [...] That By Means Of Poetry All This Suffering And Effort Could Be Transformed Into Dream; No Matter How Much Of The Ephemeral Existed, Poetry Could Immortalize It By Turning It Into Song.