The Burden Of Happiness Can

I Think That It Is A Part Of Growing Up, Learning To Control Our Suffering. I Think That When We Grow Up, And Learn That Happiness Is Rare, And Passes Quickly, We Become Disillusioned And Hurt. And How Much We Suffer Is A Mark Of How Much We Have Been Hurt By This Realisation. Suffering, You See, Is A Kind Of Anger. We Rage Against The Unfairness, The Injustice Of Our Sad And Sorry Lot.

Nothing In The World Is So Soft And Pleasing To The Touch, As The Skin Of A Woman's Thigh. No Flower, Feather Or Fabric, Can Match That Velvet Whisper Of Flesh. No Matter How Unequal They May Be In Any Other Ways, All Women, Old And Young, Fat And Thin, Beautiful And Ugly, Have That Perfection. It's A Great Part Of The Reason Why Men Hunger To Possess Women, And So Often Convince Themselves That They Do Possess Them: The Thigh, That Touch.

When The Wish And The Fear Are Exactly The Same, We Call The Dream A Nightmare.

I Think That We All, Each One Of Us, We All Have To Earn Our Future.

Let Me Explain Something To You. Look Around Here. How Many People Do You Count? Sixty, Eighty, Eighty People? Greeks, Germans, Italians, French, Americans. Tourists From Everywhere. Eating, Drinking, Talking, Laughing. And From Bombay - Indians And Iranians And Afghans And Arabs And Africans. But How Many Of These People Have Real Power, Real Destiny, Real Dynamic For Their Place, And Their Time, And The Lives Of Thousand Of People? I Will Tell You - Four. Four People In This Room With Power, And The Rest Are Like The Rest Of The People Everywhere: Powerless, Sleepers In The Dream.