The Strong Man Wants To

I Believe In The Compelling Power Of Love. I Do Not Understand It. I Believe It To Be The Most Fragrant Blossom Of All This Thorny Existence.

If I Were Personally To Define Religion, I Would Say That It Is A Bandage That Man Has Invented To Protect A Soul Made Bloody By Circustance.

Innate Sensuousness Rarely Has Any Desire For Accuracy, No Desire For Precise Information. It Basks In Sunshine, Bathes In Color, Dwells In A Sense Of The Impressive And The Gorgeous, And Rests There. Accuracy Is Not Necessary Except In The Case Of Aggressive, Acquisitive Natures, When It Manifests Itself In A Desire To Seize. True Controlling Sensuousness Cannot Be Manifested In The Most Active Dispositions, Nor Again In The Most Accurate.

Words Are But The Vague Shadows Of The Volumes We Mean. Little Audible Links, They Are, Chaining Together Great Inaudible Feelings And Purposes.

Your Writer, Your Scientist, Your Chief Official, All Have Lost The Power To Revive The Early Illusion Concerning Fame And High Place. Their Beauty And Delight Is Like The Mirage In The Heavens, Only Plain To The Eye Outside; Within Is Nothing.