For Poetry There Exists Neither

Like A Bird With Broken Wing That Has Traveled Through Wind For Years . . . I Sleep And My Heart Stays Awake . . .

For Poetry There Exists Neither Large Countries Nor Small. Its Domain Is In The Heart Of All Men.

A Lion Is Made Up Of The Lambs He's Digested.

Every Man Of Action Has A Strong Dose Of Egoism, Pride, Hardness, And Cunning. But All Those Things Will Be Regarded As High Qualities If He Can Make Them The Means To Achieve Great Ends.

And If The Soul Is To Know Itself It Is Into A Soul That It Must Look: The Stranger And The Enemy, We've Seen Him In The Mirror.