One Is Least Sure Of One's Self,

Music I Heard With You Was More Than Music, And Bread I Broke With You Was More Than Bread. Now That I Am Without You, All Is Desolate, All That Was Once So Beautiful Is Dead. Your Hands Once Touched This Table And This Silver,and I Have Seen Your Fingers Hold This Glass. These Things Do Not Remember You, Beloved: And Yet Your Touch Upon Them Will Not Pass. For It Was In My Heart You Moved Among Them,and Blessed Them With Your Hands And With Your Eyes.and In My Heart They Will Remember Always: They Knew You Once, O Beautiful And Wise!

Separate We Come, And Separate We Go, And This Be It Known, Is All That We Know.

I Do Believe In This Evolution Of Consciousness As The Only Thing Which We Can Embark On, Or In Fact, Willy-nilly, Are Embarked On; And Along With That Will Go The Spiritual Discoveries And, I Feel, The Inexhaustible Wonder That One Feels, That Opens More And More The More You Know. It's Simply That This Increasing Knowledge Constantly Enlarges Your Kingdom And The Capacity For Admiring And Loving The Universe.

The Truth--a Hideous Spectacle!

How Shall We Praise The Magnificence Of The Dead, The Great Man Humbled, The Haughty Brought To Dust?