The Absence Of Vices Adds So Little

I. Don't Trace Out Your Profile-- Forget Your Side View-- All That Is Outer Stuff. Ii. Look For Your Other Half Who Walks Always Next To You And Tends To Be Who You Aren't.

The Only Living Language Is The Language In Which We Think And Have Our Being.

My Soul Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. It Neither Sleeps Nor Dreams, But Watches, Its Eyes Wide Open Far-off Things, And Listens At The Shores Of The Great Silence.

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.

Has My Heart Gone To Sleep? Have The Beehives Of My Dreams Stopped Working, The Waterwheel Of The Mind Run Dry, Scoops Turning Empty, Only Shadow Inside? No, My Heart Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. Not Asleep, Not Dreaming— Its Eyes Are Opened Wide Watching Distant Signals, Listening On The Rim Of Vast Silence