Each Man Carries Within Him

What Torments Me Is Not The Humps Nor Hollows Nor The Ugliness. It Is The Sight, A Little Bit In All These Men, Of Mozart Murdered.

Perhaps Creativity Is Fumbling That Dance Step, Or Driving The Chisel The Wrong Way Into The Stone.

Defeat May Prove To Have Been The Only Path To Resurrection, Despite Its Ugliness.

Even Though Human Life May Be The Most Precious Thing On Earth, We Always Behave As If There Were Something Of Higher Value Than Human Life.

It Is The Duty Of The Ship's Captain To Make Port, Cost What It May.