Time Is Round, And It Rolls Quickly.

The Sole Way To Save Oneself Is To Save Others. Or To Struggle To Save Others -even That Is Sufficient.

O Sun, Great Oriental, My Proud Mind's Golden Cap, I Love To Wear You Cocked Askew, To Play And Burst In Song Throughout Our Lives, And So Rejoice Our Hearts.

To Cleave That Sea [the Aegean] In The Gentle Autumnal Season, Murmuring The Name Of Each Islet, Is To My Mind The Joy Most Apt To Transport The Heart Of Man Into Paradise.

So Few In Reality Are The True Necessities Of Man

Free Yourself From One Passion To Be Dominated By Another And Nobler One. But Is Not That, Too, A Form Of Slavery? To Sacrifice Oneself To An Idea, To A Race, To God? Or Does It Mean That The Higher The Model The Longer The Longer The Tether Of Our Slavery?