Strangely, Dante's Divine Comedy Did Not Produce

Man Cannot Produce A Single Work Without The Assistance Of The Slow, Assiduous, Corrosive Worm Of Thought.

Happiness, For You We Walk On A Knife Edge. To The Eyes You Are A Flickering Light, To The Feet, Thin Ice That Cracks; And So May No One Touch You Who Loves You.

The Real History, The One That Counts And Is Not To Be Found In Books, Is Precisely This One, The One Made By Simple Men; And It Is The Only One That Rules The World.

Too Many Lives Are Needed To Make Just One.

I Have Always Knocked At The Door Of That Wonderful And Terrible Enigma Which Is Life.