Man Pines To Live But Cannot Endure

Writing Is Conscience, Scruple, And The Farming Of Our Ancestors.

There Are Men That Are Birds, And Their Raiment Is Trembling Feathers, For They Show Their Souls To Everyone And Everything That Is Ungentle Or Untutored Or Evil Or Mockery Is As A Rude Stone Cast At Them, And They Suffer All Day Long, Or As Paul Remarks They Are Slain Every Moment.

Those Who Write For Lucre Or Fame Are Grosser Than The Cartel Robbers, For They Steal The Genius Of The People, Which Is Its Will To Resist Evil.

When One Realizes That His Life Is Worthless He Either Commits Suicide Or Travels.

Men Are Mad Most Of Their Lives; Few Live Sane, Fewer Die So. The Acts Of People Are Baffling Unless We Realize That Their Wits Are Disordered. Man Is Driven To Justice By His Lunacy.