Will It, And Set To Work Briskly.

No Cause Has He To Say His Doom Is Harsh, Who's Made The Master Of His Destiny.

The Reason For You Complaint Lies, It Seems To Me, In The Constraint Which Your Intellect Imposes Upon Your Imagination. Here I Will Make An Observation, And Illustrate It By An Allegory. Apparently, It Is Not Good-and Indeed It Hinders The Creative Work Of The Mind-if The If The Intellect Examines Too Closely The Ideas Pouring In, As It Were, At The Gates.

The World's History Is Constant, Like The Laws Of Nature, And Simple, Like The Souls Of Men. The Same Conditions Continually Produce The Same Results.

Forgiveness Is The Finding Again Of A Lost Possession.

The Lemonade Is Weak, Like Your Soul.