She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.

Life is too short to read a bad book.

Your mind will give back to you exactly what you put into it.

When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once.

It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness.

Civilization may be said indeed to be the creation of its outlaws.

History is that nightmare from which there is no awakening.