In The Depth Of My Soul There

He Who Repeats What He Does Not Understand Is No Better Than An Ass That Is Loaded With Books.

Men Would Bless You Or Curse You; The Curse, A Protest Against Failure, The Blessing, A Hymn Of The Hunter Who Comes Back From The Hills With Provision For His Mate.

Strange, The Desire For Certain Pleasures Is A Part Of My Pain.

Out Of Suffering Have Emerged The Strongest Souls; The Most Massive Characters Are Seared With Scars.

There Are Those Who Give Little Of The Much Which They Have - And They Give It For Recognition And Their Hidden Desire Makes Their Gifts Unwholesome.