It Seemed To Me That The Human

Bitterness Is The Coward's Revenge On The World For Having Been Hurt.

Don't You Love Nobody Better'n You Do Yo'self. Do, You'll Be Dying Befo' Yo' Time Is Out.

Folklore Is The Boiled-down Juice, Or Pot-likker, Of Human Living.

It Is So Easy To Be Hopeful In The Daytime When You Can See The Things You Wish On. But It Was Night, It Stayed Night. Night Was Striding Across Nothingness With The Whole Round World In His Hands . . . They Sat In Company With The Others In Other Shanties, Their Eyes Straining Against Cruel Walls And Their Souls Asking If He Meant To Measure Their Puny Might Against His. They Seemed To Be Staring At The Dark, But Their Eyes Were Watching God.

That Is The Way With People ... If They Do You Wrong, They Invent A Bad Name For You, A Good Name For Their Acts And Then Destroy You In The Name Of Virtue.