Words Are The Only Bullets In Truth's

A Token Of Ecological Awareness In A Society Devoted To Self Destruction And Waste But Unwilling To Acknowledge Its Indulgent Ways.

Artists Recognize Other Artists As Soon As The Pencil Begins To Move.

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.

Words Are The Light And Sound Of Our Existence, The Heat Lightning By Which The Night Is Illuminated.

Books ... Were Merely Nodes In A Near-infinite Matrix Of Information That Exists In Four Dimensions, Evolving Toward The Idea Of The Concept Of The Approximation Of The Shadow Of Truth Vertically Through Time As Well As Longitudinally Through Knowledge.