Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found

If Death Itself Were To Die, Would It Have A Ghost, And Would The Ghost Of Death Visit The Dead In The Guise Of Someone Alive, If Only To Fright Them From Any Temptation To Return?

Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found Fall Leaf.

But The Body Fails Us And The Mirror Knows, And We No Longer Insist That The Gray Hush Be Carried Off Its Surface By The Cloth, For We Have Run To Fat, And Wrinkles Encircle The Eyes And Notch The Neck Where The Skin Wattles, And The Flesh Of The Arms Hangs Loose Like An Overlarge Sleeve, Veins Thicken Like Ropes And Empurple The Body As Though They Had Been Drawn There By A Pen, Freckles Darken, Liver Spots Appear, The Hairah, The Hair Is Exhausted And Gray And Lusterless, In Weary Rolls Like Cornered Lint.

As A Teacher, It's A Great Help To Be Teaching Philosophical Systems You Don't Believe. You Can Actually Do A Better Job Of Presenting Them If You Leave Your Beliefs At The Door.

Of Course There Is Enough To Stir Our Wonder Anywhere; There's Enough To Love, Anywhere, If One Is Strong Enough, If One Is Diligent Enough, If One Is Perceptive, Patient, Kind Enough -- Whatever It Takes.