It Is Slavery To Live In The

For What Is Evil But Good Tortured By Its Own Hunger And Thirst?

Men Would Bless You Or Curse You; The Curse, A Protest Against Failure, The Blessing, A Hymn Of The Hunter Who Comes Back From The Hills With Provision For His Mate.

Your Life Is An Island Separated From All Other Islands And Continents. Regardless Of How Many Boats You Send To Other Shores Or How Many Ships Arrive Upon Your Shores, You Yourself Are An Island Separated By Its Own Pains, Secluded In Its Happiness

We Are All Prisoners But Some Of Us Are In Cells With Windows And Some Without.

Your Reason And Your Passion Are Your Rudder And Sails Of Your Seafaring Soul, If Either Your Sails Or Your Rudder Be Broken, You Can But Toss And Drift, Or Else Be Held At A Standstill In Mid-seas. For Reason, Ruling Alone, Is A Force Confining; And Passion, Unattended, Is A Flame That Burns To Its Own Destruction.