It Is Not Peace That I Seek,

Most Men Are Essentially Dead By Thirty.

Every Race, Every Art Has Its Hypocrisy. The World Is Fed With A Little Truth And Many Lies.

If There Is One Place On The Face Of The Earth Where All The Dreams Of Living Men Have Found A Home From The Very Earliest Days When Man Began The Dream Of Existence, It Is India. For More Than 30 Centuries, The Tree Of Vision, With All Its Thousand Branches And Their Millions Of Twigs, Has Sprung From This Torrid Land, The Burning Womb Of The Gods. It Renews Itself Tirelessly Showing No Signs Of Decay.

The More A Man Lives, The More A Man Creates, The More A Man Loves And Loses Those Whom He Loves, The More Does He Escape From Death. With Every New Blow That We Have To Bear, With Every New Work That We Round And Finish, We Escape From Ourselves, We Escape Into The Work We Have Created, The Soul We Have Loved, The Soul That Has Left Us.

History Furnishes To Politics All The Arguments That It Needs, For The Chosen Cause.