We Cannot Pluck A Flower

Choices, More Choices Than We Like Afterward To Believe, Are Made Far Backward In The Innocence Of Childhood.

Each And All, We Are Riding Into The Dark. Even Living, We Cannot Remember Half The Events Of Our Own Days.

The Secret, If One May Paraphrase A Savage Vocabulary, Lies In The Egg Of Night.

Each Man Deciphers From The Ancient Alphabets Of Nature Only Those Secrets That His Own Deeps Possess The Power To Endow With Meaning.

It Has Been Asserted That We Are Destined To Know The Dark Beyond The Stars Before We Comprehend The Nature Of Our Own Journey.