But The Division In Him Was A

Man Is Born To Live, Not To Prepare For Life.

Failure To Love Is Almost Like Murder.

Art Always Serves Beauty, And Beauty Is The Joy Of Possessing Form, And Form Is The Key To Organic Life Since No Living Thing Can Exist Without It.

He Comes As A Guest To The Feast Of Existence, And Knows That What Matters Is Not How Much He Inherits But How He Behaves At The Feast, And What People Remember And Love Him For.

But The Division In Him Was A Sorrow And A Torment, And He Became Accustomed To It Only As One Gets Used To An Unhealed And Frequently Reopened Wound.