He Thought About Himself And To The

The Writer, An Old Man With A White Moustache, Had Some Difficulty Getting Into Bed.

It Is All Right You're Saying You Do Not Need Other People, But There Are A Lot Of People Who Need You.

It Was A Cold Day But The Sun Was Out And The Trees Were Like Great Bonfires Against Gray Distant Fields And Hills.

You Must Try To Forget All You Have Learned,” Said The Old Man. “you Must Begin To Dream. From This Time On You Must Shut Your Ears To The Roaring Of The Voices.

The Lives Of People Are Like Young Trees In A Forest. They Are Being Choked By Climbing Vines. The Vines Are Old Thoughts And Beliefs Planted By Dead Men.