The Entire Being Of A

Through All The World There Goes One Long Cry From The Heart Of The Artist: Give Me A Chance To Do My Best.

Where The Storyteller Is Loyal, Eternally And Unswervingly Loyal To The Story, There, In The End, Silence Will Speak. Where The Story Has Been Betrayed, Silence Is But Emptiness. But We, The Faithful, When We Have Spoken Our Last Word, Will Hear The Voice Of Silence.

Our Longing Is Our Pledge, And Blessed Are The Homesick, For They Shall Come Home.

Your Own Self, Your Personality And Existence Are Reflected Within The Mind Of Each Of The People Whom You Meet, ... Into A Likeness, A Caricature Of Yourself, Which Still Lives On And Appears To Be, In Some Way, The Truth About You. Even A Flattering Picture Is... A Lie.

I Had A Farm In Africa, At The Foot Of The Ngong Hills. The Equator Runs Across These Highlands, A Hundred Miles To The North, And The Farm Lay At An Altitude Of Over Six Thousand Feet. In The Day-time You Felt That You Had Got High Up, Near To The Sun, But The Early Mornings And Evenings Were Limpid And Restful, And The Nights Were Cold.