I Am Only One, But

Smell Is A Potent Wizard That Transports You Across Thousands Of Miles And All The Years You Have Lived. The Odors Of Fruits Waft Me To My Southern Home, To My Childhood Frolics In The Peach Orchard. Other Odors, Instantaneous And Fleeting, Cause My Heart To Dilate Joyously Or Contract With Remembered Grief. Even As I Think Of Smells, My Nose Is Full Of Scents That Start Awake Sweet Memories Of Summers Gone And Ripening Fields Far Away.

What A Blind Person Needs Is Not A Teacher But Another Self.

We Need Limitations And Temptations To Open Our Inner Selves, Dispel Our Ignorance, Tear Off Disguises, Throw Down Old Idols, And Destroy False Standards. Only By Such Rude Awakenings Can We Be Led To Dwell In A Place Where We Are Less Cramped, Less Hindered By The Ever-insistent External. Only Then Do We Discover A New Capacity And Appreciation Of Goodness And Beauty And Truth.

If We Spend The Time We Waste In Sighing For The Perfect Golden Fruit In Fulfilling The Conditions Of Its Growth, Happiness Will Come, Must Come. It Is Guaranteed In The Very Laws Of The Universe. If It Involves Some Chastening And Renunciation, Well, The Fruit Will Be All The Sweeter For This Touch Of Holiness.

No Nation Is Wise Enough To Rule Another.