I Know But One Freedom And That

It Is In Your Act That You Exist, Not In Your Body. Your Act Is Yourself, And There Is No Other You.

Night, The Beloved. Night, When Words Fade And Things Come Alive. When The Destructive Analysis Of Day Is Done, And All That Is Truly Important Becomes Whole And Sound Again. When Man Reassembles His Fragmentary Self And Grows With The Calm Of A Tree.

Vain Is The Hope Of Finding Pleasure In That Which One Has Hitherto Disdained; As When The Warrior Hopes To Find Pleasure In The Joys Of The Sedentaries.

You're Not A Man, You're A Mushroom!

The Notion Of Looking On At Life Has Always Been Hateful To Me. What Am I If I Am Not A Participant? In Order To Be, I Must Participate.