To Be Able To Look Back Upon

Trees Are Poems The Earth Writes Upon The Sky, We Fell Them Down And Turn Them Into Paper, That We May Record Our Emptiness.

The Fool Sees Naught But Folly; And The Madman Only Madness. Yesterday I Asked A Foolish Man To Count The Fools Among Us. He Laughed And Said, "this Is Too Hard A Thing To Do, And It Will Take Too Long. Were It Not Better To Count Only The Wise?"

When You Work You Fulfill A Part Of Earth's Furthest Dream, Assigned To You When That Dream Was Born, And What Is It To Work With Love? It Is To Weave The Cloth With Threads Drawn From Your Heart, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Wear That Cloth. It Is To Build A House With Affection, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Dwell In That House. It Is To Sow Seeds With Tenderness And Reap The Harvest With Joy, Even As If Your Beloved Were To Eat The Fruit. It Is To Charge All Things You Fashion With A Breath Of Your Own Spirit. Work Is Love Made Visible

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

A Voice Cannot Carry The Tongue And The Lips That Gave It Wings. Alone Must It Seek The Ether. And Alone And Without His Nest Shall The Eagle Fly Across The Sun.