The Soul Exceeds Its Circumstances.

Religion Used To Be The Opium Of The People. To Those Suffering Humiliation, Pain, Illness, And Serfdom, Religion Promised The Reward Of An After Life. But Now, We Are Witnessing A Transformation, A True Opium Of The People Is The Belief In Nothingness After Death, The Huge Solace, The Huge Comfort Of Thinking That For Our Betrayals, Our Greed, Our Cowardice, Our Murders, We Are Not Going To Be Judged.

Human Reason Is Beautiful And Invincible. No Bars, No Barbed Wire, No Pulping Of Books, No Sentence Of Banishment Can Prevail Against It. It Puts What Should Be Above Things As They Are. It Does Not Know Jew From Greek Nor Slave From Master.

Under Various Names, I Have Praised Only You, Rivers! You Are Milk And Honey And Love And Death And Dance. From A Spring In Hidden Grottoes, Seeping From Mossy Rocks, Where A Goddess Pours Live Water From A Pitcher, At Clear Streams In The Meadow, Where Rills Murmur Underground, Your Race And My Race Begin, And Amazement, And Quick Passage.

Irony Is The Glory Of Slaves.

I Am Composed Of Contradictions, Which Is Why Poetry Is A Better Form For Me Than Philosophy