A Goal Without A Pan Is Just

The Machine Does Not Isolate Man From The Great Problems Of Nature But Plunges Him More Deeply Into Them.

The Tree Is More Than First A Seed, Then A Stem, Then A Living Trunk, And Then Dead Timber. The Tree Is A Slow, Enduring Force Straining To Win The Sky.

Love, Like A Carefully Loaded Ship, Crosses The Gulf Between The Generations.

What He Had Yearned To Embrace Was Not The Flesh But A Down Spirit, A Spark, The Impalpable Angel That Inhabits The Flesh.

It Is The Missed Opportunity That Counts, And In A Love That Vainly Yearns From Behind Prison Bars You Have Perchance The Love Supreme.