The Skyline Of New York

It Is My Eyes Which See, And The Sight Of My Eyes Grants Beauty To The Earth. It Is My Ears Which Hear, And The Hearing Of My Ears Gives Its Song To The World. It Is My Mind Which Thinks, And The Judgement Of My Mind Is The Only Searchlight That Can Find The Truth. It Is My Will Which Chooses, And The Choice Of My Will Is The Only Edict I Must Respect.

Why No. I’m Too Conceited. If You Want To Call It That. I Don’t Make Comparisons. I Never Think Of Myself In Relation To Anyone Else. I Just Refuse To Measure Myself As Part Of Anything. I’m An Utter Egotist.

Every Man Builds His World In His Own Image; He Has The Power To Choose, But No Power To Escape The Necessity Of Choice. If He Abdicates His Power, He Abdicates The Status Of Man, And The Grinding Chaos Of The Irrational Is What He Achieves As His Sphere Of Existence—by His Own Choice.

It Stands To Reason That If Sacrifices Are Being Given, Somebody Is Collecting Sacrifices.

Love Is An Expression And Assertion Of Self-esteem, A Response To One's Own Values In The Person Of Another. One Gains A Profoundly Personal, Selfish Joy From The Mere Existence Of The Person One Loves. It Is One's Own Personal, Selfish Happiness That One Seeks, Earns, And Derives From Love.