Perhaps A Great Love Is Never Returned.

To Reach Perfection, We Must All Pass, One By One, Through The Death Of Self-effacement.

At Every Moment You Choose Yourself. But Do You Choose *your* Self? Body And Soul Contain A Thousand Possibilities Out Of Which You Can Build Many I's. But In One Of Them Is There A Congruence Of The Elector And The Elected. Only One--which You Will Never Find Until You Have Excluded All Those Superficial And Fleeting Possibilities Of Being And Doing With Which You Toy, Out Of Curiosity Or Wonder Or Greed, And Which Hinder You From Casting Anchor In The Experience Of The Mystery Of Life, And The Consciousness Of The Talent Entrusted To You Which Is Your *i*.

You Take The Pen, And The Lines Dance. You Take The Flute And The Notes Shimmer. You Take The Brush, And The Colors Sing. So All Things Have Meaning And Beauty In That Space Beyond Time Where You Are. How, Then, Can I Hold Back Anything From You?

Peacekeeping Is Not A Job For Soldiers, But Only Soldiers Can Do It.

I Am The Vessel. The Draft Is God's. And God Is The Thirsty One.