Travelers, There Is No Path, Paths Are

The Wind, One Brilliant Day, Called To My Soul With An Odor Of Jasmine. "in Return For The Odor Of My Jasmine, I'd Like All The Odor Of Your Roses." "i Have No Roses; All The Flowers In My Garden Are Dead." "well Then, I'll Take The Withered Petals And The Yellow Leaves And The Waters Of The Fountain." The Wind Left. And I Wept. And I Said To Myself: "what Have You Done With The Garden That Was Entrusted To You?

There Is No One So Bound To His Own Face That He Does Not Cherish The Hope Of Presenting Another To The World.

Man's Passion For Truth Is Such That He Will Welcome The Bitterest Of All Postulates So Long As It Strikes Him As True.

Wherever Learning Breeds Specialists, The Sum Of Human Culture Is Enhanced Thereby. That Is The Illusion And Consolation Of Specialists.

Those Who Deny The Existence Of The Truth Postulate The Truth Of Their Denial And Plainly Contradict Themselves.