Travel, Like Dreams, Is A Door That

The Only Certainty Is Death.

In The East Men Know Panic, But They Do Not Know What Fright Is.

The Public Is Composed Of Numerous Groups Whose Cry To Us Writers Is: 'comfort Me.' 'amuse Me.' 'touch My Sympathies.' 'make Me Sad.' 'make Me Dream.' 'make Me Laugh.' 'make Me Shiver.' 'make Me Weep.' 'make Me Think.'

Anguish Of Suspense Made Men Even Desire The Arrival Of Enemies.

We Breathe, Sleep, Drink, Eat, Work And Then Die! The End Of Life Is Death. What Do You Long For? Love? A Few Kisses And You Will Be Powerless. Money? What For? To Gratify Your Desires. Glory? What Coems After It All? Death! Death Alone Is Certain.