With Me Every Peep Becomes A Trumpet

I Very Rarely Think In Words At All. A Thought Comes, And I May Try To Express In Words Afterwards.

We Still Do Not Know One Thousandth Of One Percent Of What Nature Has Revealed To Us.

Although Words Exist For The Most Part For The Transmission Of Ideas, There Are Some Which Produce Such Violent Disturbance In Our Feelings That The Role They Play In The Transmission Of Ideas Is Lost In The Background.

We Sleep 1/3 Of Our Lives Away.

Everything Is Determined, The Beginning As Well As The End, By Forces Over Which We Have No Control. It Is Determined For The Insect, As Well As For The Star. Human Beings, Vegetables, Or Cosmic Dust, We All Dance To A Mysterious Tune, Intoned In The Distance By An Invisible Piper.