I Don't Know How To Work A

We Are Things That Labor Under The Illusion Of Having A Self, A Secretion Of Sensory Experience And Feeling, Programmed With Total Assurance That We Are Each Somebody, When In Fact Everybody's Nobody.

The Dogs Eat Of The Crumbs Which Fall From Their Masters' Table.

The Tree Is Known By His Fruit.

A Foolish Man... Built His House Upon The Sand.

I Love Having My Hands In The Dirt. It Is Never A Science And Always An Art. There Are No Rules. And If It Comes Down To Me Versus That Weed I'm Trying To Pull Out Of The Ground That Doesn't Want To Come Out? I Know I'll Win.