How True It Is That Words Are

Life Is Made For The Strong. There Is No Mercy In It For The Weak– None...such Is The Tragedy Of Desire.

It Isn't Myself That's Important In This Transaction Apparently; The Individual Doesn't Count Much In The Situation...all Of Us Are More Or Less Pawns. We're Moved About Like Chessmen By Circumstances Over Which We Have No Control.

I Sacrifice To The God Of Beauty — The Impulse To Beauty In Nature. Here Are Flowers. Here Is Wine Spilled On The Floor. I Will Burn Incense & Myrhh. I Will Kneel & Strike My Breast & Touch The Dust With My Forehead. I Will I Will! Only Do Not Forsake Me, Oh God Of Beauty.

You Walk Into A Room, See A Woman, And Something Happens. It's Chemical. What Are You Going To Do About It?

If I Were Personally To Define Religion, I Would Say That It Is A Bandage That Man Has Invented To Protect A Soul Made Bloody By Circustance.