His Faithful Dog Salutes The Smiling Guest.

What Though My Winged Hours Of Bliss Have Been, Like Angel Visits, Few And Far Between.

The Patriot's Blood Is The Seed Of Freedom's Tree.

The Being Level Speaks The Language Of Art, Music, Color Shape And Pattern Directly -- A Language That Requires No Words -- Is Not Limited By Words -- Nor Does It Have The Specificity Of Words And Thus Cannot Be Broken Onto Parts That Can Be Manipulated Or Analyzed By The Intellect. It Must Be Swallowed, Whole Not Parsed, Sorted And Justified.

Oh, How Hard It Is To Find The One Just Suited To Our Mind!

Who Hail Thee, Man! The Pilgrim Of The Day, Spouse Of The Worm, And Brother Of The Clay.