What The Poet Is Searching For Is

Xxix Traveler, There Is No Path. The Path Is Made By Walking. Traveller, The Path Is Your Tracks And Nothing More. Traveller, There Is No Path The Path Is Made By Walking. By Walking You Make A Path And Turning, You Look Back At A Way You Will Never Tread Again Traveller, There Is No Road Only Wakes In The Sea.

Wherever Learning Breeds Specialists, The Sum Of Human Culture Is Enhanced Thereby. That Is The Illusion And Consolation Of Specialists.

Wanderer, Your Footsteps Are The Road, And Nothing More; Wanderer, There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking. By Walking One Makes The Road, And Upon Glancing Behind One Sees The Path. . .

There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking.

My Philosophy Is Fundamentally Sad, But I’m Not A Sad Man, And I Don’t Believe I Sadden Anyone Else. In Other Words, The Fact That I Don’t Put My Philosophy Into Practice Saves Me From Its Evil Spell, Or, Rather, My Faith In The Human Race Is Stronger Then My Intellectual Analysis Of It; There Lies The Fountain Of Youth In Which My Heart Is Continually Bathing.