Paths Are Made By Walking

The Delights Of This Life Are Not Its Own, But Our Fear Of The Ascent Into A Higher Life; The Torments Of This Life Are Not Its Own, But Our Self-torment Because Of That Fear.

There Has Never Been A Time In Which I Have Been Convinced From Within Myself That I Am Alive. You See, I Have Only Such A Fugitive Awareness Of Things Around Me That I Always Feel They Were Once Real And Are Now Fleeting Away. I Have A Constant Longing, My Dear Sir, To Catch A Glimpse Of Things As They May Have Been Before They Show Themselves To Me.

There Are Questions We Could Not Get Past If We Were Not Set Free From Them By Our Very Nature.

In A Way, I Was Safe Writing

All I Am Is Literature, And I Am Not Able Or Willing To Be Anything Else.