Nobody Wants To Be Here And Nobody

In Every Trade Save War Men Of Talent And Vigor Prosper. In War They Die.

The Night Sky Lies So Sprent With Stars That There Is Scarcely Space Of Black At All And They Fall All Night In Bitter Arcs And It Is So That Their Numbers Are No Less.

Only Now Is The Child Finally Divested Of All That He Has Been. His Origins Are Become Remote As Is His Destiny And Not Again In All The World's Turning Will There Be Terrains So Wild And Barbarous To Try Whether The Stuff Of Creation May Be Shaped To Man's Will Or Whether His Own Heart Is Not Another Kind Of Clay.

Scars Have The Strange Power To Remind Us That Our Past Is Real.

I Look For The Words, Professor. I Look For The Words Because I Believe That The Words Is The Way To Your Heart.