Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

I Walked In A Desert. And I Cried, ‘ah, God, Take Me From This Place!’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’ I Cried, ‘well, But - The Sand, The Heat, The Vacant Horizon.’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’

The Cold Passed Reluctantly From The Earth, And The Retiring Fogs Revealed An Army Stretched Out On The Hills, Resting. As The Landscape Changed From Brown To Green, The Army Awakened, And Began To Tremble With Eagerness At The Noise Of Rumors.

Tradition, Thou Art For Suckling Children, Thou Art The Enlivening Milk For Babes, But No Meat For Men Is In Thee.

Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

Every Sin Is The Result Of Collaboration.