When A Man's Hand Touches The Hand

Our Worst Fault Is Our Preoccupation With The Faults Of Others.

But You Who Walk Facing The Sun, What Images Drawn On The Earth Can Hold You? You Who Travel With The Wind, What Weathervane Shall Direct Your Course? What Man's Law Shall Bind You If You Break Your Yoke But Upon No Man's Prison Door? What Laws Shall You Fear If You Dance But Stumble Against No Man's Iron Chains? And Who Is He That Shall Bring You To Judgment If You Tear Off Your Garment Yet Leave It In No Man's Path? People Of Orphalese, You Can Muffle The Drum, And You Can Loosen The Strings Of The Lyre, But Who Shall Command The Skylark Not To Sing?

Is Not The Beautiful Moon, That Inspires Poets, The Same Moon Which Angers The Silence Of The Sea With A Terrible Roar?

God Listens Not To Your Words Save When He Himself Utters Them Through Your Lips.

Wit Is Often A Mask. If You Tear It You Will Find Either Genius Irritated Or Cleverness Juggling.