Perhaps A Man May Commit Suicide In

It Is Slavery To Live In The Mind Unless It Has Become Part Of The Body

The Brooks Flow To Their Lover, The Sea, And The Flowers Smile At The Object Of Their Passion, The Light. The Mist Rolls Down To Its Beloved, The Valley. And I? In Me Is What Brooks Do Not Know, What Flowers Do Not Hear, What The Mist Does Not Apprehend. You See Me Alone In My Love, Solitary In My Yearning.

Your Friend Is Your Needs Answered. He Is Your Field Which You Sow With Love And Reap With Thanksgiving. And He Is Your Board And Your Fireside. For You Come To Him With Your Hunger, And You Seek Him For Peace.

Man Is Like The Foam Of The Sea, That Floats Upon The Surface Of The Water. When The Wind Blows, It Vanishes, As If It Had Never Been. Thus Are Our Lives Blown Away By Death.

That Which Seems Most Feeble And Bewildered In You Is The Strongest And Most Determined. Is It Not Your Breath That Has Erected And Hardened The Structure Of Your Bones?