Philosophy's Work Is Finding The Shortest Path

When Love Beckons To You, Follow Him, Though His Ways Are Hard And Steep. And When His Wings Enfold You Yield To Him, Though The Sword Hidden Among His Pinions May Wound You.

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.

Love Possesses Not Nor Will It Be Possessed, For Love Is Sufficient Unto Love.

You May Chain My Hands, You May Shackle My Feet; You May Even Throw Me Into A Dark Prison; But You Shall Not Enslave My Thinking, Because It Is Free!

We Shall Never Understand One Another Until We Reduce The Language To Seven Words.