At Sunrise Everything Is Luminous But Not

Eventually, All Things Merge Into One, And A River Runs Through It. The River Was Cut By The World's Great Flood And Runs Over Rocks From The Basement Of Time. On Some Of The Rocks Are Timeless Raindrops. Under The Rocks Are The Words, And Some Of The Words Are Theirs. I Am Haunted By Waters.

At The Time I Did Not Know That Stories Of Life Are Often More Like Rivers Than Books.

Help Is Giving Part Of Yourself To Somebody Who Comes To Accept It Willingly And Needs It Badly.

It Is Very Important To A Lot Of People To Make Unmistakably Clear To Themselves And To The Universe That They Love The Universe But Are Not Intimidated By It And Will Not Be Shaken By It, No Matter What It Has In Store. Moreover, They Demand Something From Themselves Early In Life That Can Be Taken Ever After As A Demonstration Of This Abiding Feeling.

Yet Even In The Loneliness Of The Canyon I Knew There Were Others Like Me Who Had Brothers They Did Not Understand But Wanted To Help. We Are Probably Those Referred To As "our Brother's Keepers," Possessed Of One Of The Oldest And Possible One Of The Most Futile And Certainly One Of The Most Haunting Instincts. It Will Not Let Us Go.