Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

There Is Nothing- No Life, No Joy, No Pain- There Is Nothing Save Opinion, And Opinion Be Damned.

Do Not Weep, Maiden, For War Is Kind. Because Your Lover Threw Wild Hands Toward The Sky And The Affrighted Steed Ran On Alone, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind. Hoarse, Booming Drums Of The Regiment, Little Souls Who Thirst For Fight, These Men Were Born To Drill And Die. The Unexplained Glory Flies Above Them, Great Is The Battle-god, Great, And His Kingdom -a Field Where A Thousand Corpses Lie. Do Not Weep, Babe, For War Is Kind.

Think As I Think," Said A Man, "or You Are Abominably Wicked; You Are A Toad." And After I Thought Of It, I Said, "i Will, Then, Be A Toad.

Truth ... Is A Breath, A Wind, A Shadow, A Phantom; Long Have I Pursued It, But Never Have I Touched The Hem Of Its Garment.

The Wayfarer, Perceiving The Pathway To Truth, Was Struck With Astonishment. It Was Thickly Grown With Weeds. "ha," He Said, "i See That None Has Passed Here In A Long Time." Later He Saw That Each Weed Was A Singular Knife. "well," He Mumbled At Last, "doubtless There Are Other Roads.