Faith Is The Spiritual House In Which

Men's Private Self-worlds Are Rather Like Our Geographical World's Seasons, Storm, And Sun, Deserts, Oases, Mountains And Abysses, The Endless-seeming Plateaus, Darkness And Light, And Always The Sowing And The Reaping.

Autumn Burned Brightly, A Running Flame Through The Mountains, A Torch Flung To The Trees.

Every Generation Proclaims That Each Must Lead His Own Life, But Seldom Grants The Subsequent Generation The Right To Lead Theirs.

There's Nothing Like Fishing To Pass The Time And To Incline Toward A Sort Of Magnificent Stupidity In Which Nothing Matters But Tackle, Bait, Sunlight And The Strike.

In My Belief, A Harvest Is Also A Legacy, For Very Often What You Reap Is, In The Way Of Small Miracles, More Than You Consciously Know You Have Sown.