Here Man Is No Longer The Center

To Preserve The Silence Within--amid All The Noise. To Remain Open And Quiet, A Moist Humus In The Fertile Darkness Where The Rain Falls And The Grain Ripens--no Matter How Many Tramp Across The Parade Ground In Whirling Dust Under An Arid Sky.

On The Bookshelf Of Life, God Is A Useful Work Of Reference, Always At Hand But Seldom Consulted.

Friendship Needs No Words - It Is Solitude Delivered From The Anguish Of Loneliness.

In A Dream I Walked With God Through The Deep Places Of Creation; Past Walls That Receded And Gates That Opened Through Hall After Hall Of Silence, Darkness And Refreshment--the Dwelling Place Of Souls Acquainted With Light And Warmth--until, Around Me, Was An Infinity Into Which We All Flowed Together And Lived Anew, Like The Rings Made By Raindrops Falling Upon Wide Expanses Of Calm Dark Waters.

Praise Those Of Your Critics For Whom Nothing Is Up To Standard.