That Which Needs To Be

There Did He Sit Shrivelled In His Chimney Corner, Fretting On Account Of His Weak Legs, World Weary, Will Weary, And One Day He Suffocated Through His Excessive Pity.

We Are All Afraid Of The Truth.

Not Joy Is The Mother Of Dissipation, But Joylessness.

Let That Day Be Lost To Us On Which We Did Not Dance Once!

Underneath The Reality In Which We Live And Have Our Being, Another Altogether Different Reality Lies Concealed.