Man Would Be "otherwise." That's The Essence

I Dreamt -- Marvellous Error! -- That I Had A Beehive Here Inside My Heart. And The Golden Bees Were Making White Combs And Sweet Honey From My Old Failures.

Avoid Pulpits, Platforms, Stages And Pedestals. Keep To The Hard Ground. It Is The Only Way You Can Judge Your Approximate Status As A Man.

The Unpublished Manuscript Is Like An Uncon-fessed Sin That Festers In The Soul, Corrupting And Contaminating It.

The Truly Erotic Sensibility, In Evoking The Image Of Woman, Never Omits To Clothe It. The Robing And Disrobing: That Is The True Traffic Of Love.

Under All That We Think, Lives All We Believe, Like The Ultimate Veil Of Our Spirits