Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of

I Am Who I Am And I Have The Need To Be.

She Knew This Man's Smile, His Gentle Ways Of Love, But Not His Godlike Fury In The Storm. She Might Snare Him In A Fragile Net Of Music, Love And Flowers, But, At Each Departure, He Would Break Forth Without, It Seemed To Her, The Least Regret.

No Truth Is Proved, No Truth Achieved, By Argument, And The Ready-made Truths Men Offer You Are Mere Conveniences Or Drugs To Make You Sleep.

We Live Not By Things, But By The Meaning Of Things. It Is Needful To Transmit The Passwords From Generation To Generation.

Perfection Is Attained, Not When No More Can Be Added, But When No More Can Be Removed.