No Wide Road Leads To

The Human Soul Is Heavy, Clumsy, Held In The Mud Of The Flesh. Its Perceptions Are Still Coarse And Brutish. It Can Divine Nothing Clearly, Nothing With Certainty.

The Doors Of Heaven And Hell Are Adjacent And Identical.

As Long As There Are Flowers And Children And Birds In The World, Have No Fears: Everything Will Be Fine.

A Slave's Soul Has No Worth, My Brothers; It Lacks Strength To Tread On This Great Earth With Gallantry And Freedom. I Pity The Poor Slaves, They're Nought But Airy Mist, A Light Breeze Scatters Them, A Fragrance Knocks Them Down; It's Only Just They Crawl On The Earth On Hands And Knees. Today I'll Write A Hymn To God And Pray For This Great Grace.

Life's True Face Is The Skull.