In That Part Of The

No One Thinks Of How Much Blood It Costs.

It Is Necessity And Not Pleasure That Compels Us.

O Power Of Fantasy That Steals Our Minds From Things Outside, To Leave Us Unaware, Although A Thousand Trumpets May Blow Loud--what Stirs You If The Senses Show You Nothing? Light Stirs You, Formed In Heaven, By Itself, Or By His Will Who Sends It Down To Us.

I Care Not Where My Body May Take Me As Long As My Soul Is Embarked On A Meaningful Journey.

The Splendors That Belong Unto The Fame Of Earth Are But A Wind, That In The Same Direction Lasts Not Long.