For Those Of Us Who

Perhaps The Old Monks Were Right When They Tried To Root Love Out; Perhaps The Poets Are Right When They Try To Water It. It Is A Blood-red Flower, With The Color Of Sin; But There Is Always The Scent Of A God About It.

How Hard It Is To Make Your Thoughts Look Anything But Imbecile Fools When You Paint Them With Ink On Paper.

The Troubles Of The Young Are Soon Over; They Leave No External Mark. If You Wound The Tree In Its Youth The Bark Will Quickly Cover The Gash; But When The Tree Is Very Old, Peeling The Bark Off, And Looking Carefully, You Will See The Scar There Still. All That Is Buried Is Not Dead.

The Secret Of Success Is Concentration ... Taste Everything A Little, Look At Everything A Little; But Live For One Thing.

Love, Smoke And A Cough Cannot Long Be Hid!