Never The Grave Gives Back What It

Spring Flies, And With It All The Train It Leads; And Flowers, In Fading, Leave Us But Their Seeds.

No Emperor Has The Power To Dictate To The Heart.

The Reason For You Complaint Lies, It Seems To Me, In The Constraint Which Your Intellect Imposes Upon Your Imagination. Here I Will Make An Observation, And Illustrate It By An Allegory. Apparently, It Is Not Good-and Indeed It Hinders The Creative Work Of The Mind-if The If The Intellect Examines Too Closely The Ideas Pouring In, As It Were, At The Gates.

For The World Is Only Governed By Self-interest.

I Am My Own Heaven And Hell!