Memoirs Are The Backstairs Of History.

The Stench Of The Trail Of Ego In Our History. It Is Ego - Ego, The Fountain Cry, Origin, Sole Source Of War.

The Song Seraphically Free Of Taint Of Personality, So Pure That It Salutes The Suns The Voice Of One For Millions, In Whom The Millions Rejoice For Giving Their One Spirit Voice.

And If I Drink Oblivion Of A Day, / So Shorten I The Stature Of My Soul.

Could I Find A Place To Be Alone With Heaven, I Would Speak My Heart Out Heaven Is My Need.

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.