Love Is Every Bit As Violent And

The Intelligent Poor Individual Was A Much Finer Observer Than The Intelligent Rich One. The Poor Individual Looks Around Him At Every Step, Listens Suspiciously To Every Word He Hears From The People He Meets; Thus, Every Step He Takes Presents A Problem, A Task, For His Thoughts And Feelings. He Is Alert And Sensitive, He Is Experienced, His Soul Has Been Burned.

No Worse Fate Can Befall A Young Man Or Woman Than Becoming Prematurely Entrenched In Prudence And Negation.

Truth Is Neither Ojectivity Nor The Balanced View; Truth Is A Selfless Subjectivity.

And Love Was Creation's Source,creation's Ruler; But All Love's Ways Are Strewn With Blossoms And Blood, Blossoms And Blood.

A Word Can Be Transformed Into A Coulour, Light, A Smell; It Is The Writer's Task To Use It In Such A Way That It Serves, Never Fails, Can Never Be Ignored.