I Did Not Know How To Reach

I Have No Right, By Anything I Do Or Say, To Demean A Human Being In His Own Eyes. What Matters Is Not What I Think Of Him; It Is What He Thinks Of Himself. To Undermine A Man's Self-respect Is A Sin.

Only He Can Understand What A Farm Is, What A Country Is, Who Shall Have Sacrificed Part Of Himself To His Farm Or Country, Fought To Save It, Struggled To Make It Beautiful. Only Then Will The Love Of Farm Or Country Fill His Heart.

He Who Has Gone, So We But Cherish His Memory, Abides With Us, More Potent, Nay, More Present Than The Living Man.

I Know A Planet Where There Is A Certain Red-faced Gentleman. He Has Never Smelled A Flower. He Has Never Looked At A Star. He Has Never Loved Any One. He Has Never Done Anything In His Life But Add Up Figures. And All Day He Says Over And Over, Just Like You: 'i Am Busy With Matters Of Consequence!' And That Makes Him Swell Up With Pride. But He Is Not A Man - He Is A Mushroom!

Night, When Words Fade And Things Come Alive.