Cries Of Despair, Misery, Sobbing Grief Are

When The Body Sinks Into Death, The Essence Of Man Is Revealed. Man Is A Knot, A Web, A Mesh Into Which Relationships Are Tied. Only Those Relationships Matter. The Body Is An Old Crock That Nobody Will Miss. I Have Never Known A Man To Think Of Himself When Dying. Never.

War Is Not An Adventure. It Is A Disease. It Is Like Typhus.

The Tree Is A Slow, Enduring Force Straining To Win The Sky.

The Machine Does Not Isolate Man From The Great Problems Of Nature But Plunges Him More Deeply Into Them.

Of What Worth Are Convictions That Bring Not Suffering?