To Be A Person Is To Have

The Cicada Sing An Endless Song In The Long Grass, Smells Run Along The Earth And Falling Stars Run Over The Sky, Like Tears Over A Cheek. You Are The Privileged Person To Whom Everything Is Taken. The Kings Of Tarshish Shall Bring Gifts.

To Me, The Explanation Of Life Seems To Be Its Melody, Its Pattern. And I Feel In Life Such An Infinite, Truly Inconceivable Fantasy.

It Is When People Are Told Their Own Thoughts That They Think They Are Being Insulted.

The Consolations Of The Vulgar Are Bitter In The Royal Ear. Let Physicians And Confectioners And Servants In The Great Houses Be Judged By What They Have Done, And Even By What They Have Meant To Do; The Great People Themselves Are Judged By What They Are. I Have Been Told That Lions, Trapped And Shut Up In Cages, Grieve From Shame More Than From Hunger.

Some People Have An Unconquerable Love Of Riddles. They May Have The Chance Of Listening To Plain Sense, Or To Such Wisdom That Explains Life; But No, They Must Go And Work Their Brains Over A Riddle, Just Because They Do Not Understand What It Means.