If It Were Not For Guests All

You Were Born Together, And Together You Shall Be Forevermore. You Shall Be Together When The White Wings Of Death Scatter Your Days. Ay, You Shall Be Together Even In The Silent Memory Of God. But Let There Be Spaces In Your Togetherness, And Let The Winds Of The Heavens Dance Between You.

Many Are The Fools Who Say That Jesus Stood In His Own Path And Opposed Himself; That He Knew Not His Own Mind, And In The Absence Of That Knowledge Confounded Himself.

Life Without Liberty Is Like A Body Without Spirit. Liberty Without Thought Is Like A Disturbed Spirit.

In Truth We Gaze But Do Not See, And Hearken But Do Not Hear; We Eat And Drink But Do Not Taste. And There Lies The Difference Between Jesus Of Nazareth And Ourselves. His Senses Were All Continually Made New, And The World To Him Was Always A New World.

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.