Fear Is A Place Where You Just

Study Nothing Except In The Knowledge That You Already Knew It. Worship Nothing Except In Adoration Of Your True Self. And Fear Nothing Except In The Certainty That You Are Your Enemy's Begetter And Its Only Hope Of Healing.

There Are Lives Lived For Love, And Lives Lived For Art. We, Happy Band, Have Chosen The Later Persuasion.

Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

We Have Great Cities To Visit: New York And Washington, Paris And London; And Further East, And Older Than Any Of These, The Legendary City Of Samarkand, Whose Crumbling Palaces And Mosques Still Welcome Travelers On The Silk Road. Weary Of Cities? Then We’ll Take To The Wilds. To The Islands Of Hawaii And The Mountains Of Japan, To Forests Where Civil War Dead Still Lie, And Stretches Of Sea No Mariner Ever Crossed. They All Have Their Poetry: The Glittering Cities And The Ruined, The Watery Wastes And The Dusty; I Want To Show You Them All. I Want To Show You Everything.

You Just Have To Trust Your Own Madness.