Life Is The Path You

The Afternoon Is Bright, With Spring In The Air, A Mild March Afternoon, With The Breath Of April Stirring, I Am Alone In The Quiet Patio Looking For Some Old Untried Illusion - Some Shadow On The Whiteness Of The Wall Some Memory Asleep On The Stone Rim Of The Fountain, Perhaps In The Air The Light Swish Of Some Trailing Gown.

Travelers, There Is No Path, Paths Are Made By Walking.

The Absence Of Vices Adds So Little To The Sum Of One's Virtues.

Death Is Something We Shouldn't Fear Because, While We Are, Death Isn't, And When Death Is, We Aren't.

Man's Passion For Truth Is Such That He Will Welcome The Bitterest Of All Postulates So Long As It Strikes Him As True.