Happy Is The Man, I Thought, Who,

How Could I, Who Loved Life So Intensely, Have Let Myself Be Entangled For So Long In That Balderdash Of Books And Paper Blackened With Ink!

The Human Soul Is Heavy, Clumsy, Held In The Mud Of The Flesh. Its Perceptions Are Still Coarse And Brutish. It Can Divine Nothing Clearly, Nothing With Certainty.

Yes, There Is Weeping, Even In Heaven, But It Is For Those Who Are Still Crawling On The Earth.

God Changes His Appearance Every Second. Blessed Is The Man Who Can Recognize Him In All His Disguises.

It Doesn't Matter Whether Or Not You Have A Head, You Must Wear The Right Sort Of Hat