A Writer Is A Man Like Any

A Human Being Is A Being Who Is Constantly 'under Construction,' But Also, In A Parallel Fashion, Always In A State Of Constant Destruction.

The Wisest Man I Ever Knew In My Whole Life Could Not Read Or Write. At Four O'clock In The Morning, When The Promise Of A New Day Still Lingered Over French Lands, He Got Up From His Pallet And Left For The Fields, Taking To Pasture The Half-dozen Pigs Whose Fertility Nourished Him And His Wife.

The Minds Of Human Beings Are Not Always Entirely At One With The World In Which They Live, Some People Have Trouble Adjusting To Reality, Basically They're Just Weak, Confused Spirits Who Use Words, Sometimes Very Skillfully, To Justify Their Cowardice.

Death ... Doesn't Take Her Eyes Off Us For A Minute, So Much So That Even Those Who Are Not Yet Due To Die Feel Her Gaze Pursuing Them Constantly.

Ah, In Every Age There Is Always Some New Wonder To Astound Mankind Until They Grow Accustomed To It And Lose Interest.