There Is No Such Thing As The

Follow, Poet, Follow Right To The Bottom Of The Night, With Your Unconstraining Voice Still Persuade Us To Rejoice; With The Farming Of A Verse Make A Vineyard Of The Curse, Sing Of Human Unsuccess In A Rapture Of Distress; In The Deserts Of The Heart Let The Healing Fountain Start, In The Prison Of His Days Teach The Free Man How To Praise.

All Sins Tend To Be Addictive, And The Terminal Point Of Addiction Is Damnation.

So Long As We Think Of It Objectively, Time Is Fate Or Chance, The Factor In Our Lives For Which We Are Not Responsible, And About Which We Can Do Nothing; But When We Begin To Think Of It Subjectively, We Feel Responsible For Our Time, And The Notion Of Punctuality Arises.

Those Who Will Not Reason, Perish In The Act. Those Who Will Not Act, Perish For That Reason.

Though One Cannot Always Remember Exactly Why One Has Been Happy, There Is No Forgetting That One Was.