It Is Not The Actual Enjoyment Of

The Art Of Living Is The Art Of Knowing How To Believe Lies.

At Great Periods You Have Always Felt, Deep Within You, The Temptation To Commit Suicide. You Gave Yourself To It, Breached Your Own Defenses. You Were A Child. The Idea Of Suicide Was A Protest Against Life; By Dying, You Would Escape This Longing For Death.

A Decision, An Action, Are Infallible Omens Of What We Shall Do Another Time, Not For Any Vague, Mystic, Astrological Reason But Because They Result From An Automatic Reaction That Will Repeat Itself.

Don't You Know That What Happens To You Once Always Happens Again? You Always React In The Same Way To The Same Thing. It's No Accident When You Make A Mess. Then You Do It Again. It's Called Destiny.

The World, The Future, Is Now Within You As Your Past, As Experience, Skill In Technique, And The Rich, Everlasting Mystery Is Found To Be Childish You That, At The Time, You Made No Effort To Possess.