Man Hoards Himself When He

Writing Is Conscience, Scruple, And The Farming Of Our Ancestors.

Man Is At The Nadir Of His Stregth When The Earth, The Seas, The Mountains Are Not In Him, For Without Them His Soul Is Unsourced, And He Has No Images By Which To Abide.

Of All The Animals On Earth, None Is So Brutish As Man When He Seeks The Delirium Of Coition.

Narcissus Never Wrote Well Nor Was A Friend.

I Have No Confidence In A Man Whose Faults You Cannot See.