Until We Are All Free, We Are

My Own Curiosity And Interest Are Insatiable.

Not Like The Brazen Giant Of Greek Fame, With Conquering Limbs Astride From Land To Land; Here At Our Sea-washed, Sunset Gates Shall Stand A Mighty Woman With A Torch, Whose Flame Is The Imprisoned Lightning, And Her Name Mother Of Exiles.

I Am Never Going To Write For The Sake Of Writing.

Let Our First Care Today Be The Re-establishment Of Our Physical Strength, The Reconstruction Of Our National Organism, So That In Future, Where The Respect Due To Us Cannot Be Won By Entreaty, It May Be Commanded, And Where It Cannot Be Commanded, It May Be Enforced.

The Soul, At Peace, Reflects The Peace Without, Forgetting Grief As Sunset Skies Forget The Morning's Transient Shower.