We Had A Kettle; We Let It

A Black Shadow Dropped Down Into The Circle. It Was Bagheera The Black Panther, Inky Black All Over, But With The Panther Markings Showing Up In Certain Lights Like The Pattern Of Watered Silk. Everybody Knew Bagheera, And Nobody Cared To Cross His Path, For He Was As Cunning As Tabaqui, As Bold As The Wild Buffalo, And As Reckless As The Wounded Elephant. But He Had A Voice As Soft As Wild Honey Dripping From A Tree, And A Skin Softer Than Down.

Politicians. Little Tin Gods On Wheels.

Doctors Have Been Exposed-you Always Will Be Exposed-to The Attacks Of Those Persons Who Consider Their Own Undisciplined Emotions More Important Than The World's Most Bitter Agonies-the People Who Would Limit And Cripple And Hamper Research Because They Fear Research May Be Accompanied By A Little Pain And Suffering.

Nations Have Passed Away And Left No Traces, And History Gives The Naked Cause Of It - One Single Simple Reason In All Cases; They Fell Because Their Peoples Were Not Fit.

When Your Daemon Is In Charge, Do Not Try To Think Consciously. Drift, Wait, And Obey.