The Expulsion From Eden Is An Act

The River Of Truth Is Always Splitting Up Into Arms That Reunite. Islanded Between Them, The Inhabitants Argue For A Lifetime As To Which Is The Mainstream.

Like Those Crabs Which Dress Themselves With Seaweed, We Wear Belief And Custom.

The Man Who Is Master Of His Passions Is Reason's Slave.

Melancholy And Remorse Form The Deep Leaden Keel Which Enables Us To Sail Into The Wind Of Reality; We Run Aground Sooner Than The Flat-bottomed Pleasure-lovers But We Venture Out In Weather That Would Sink Them And We Choose Our Direction.

Imprisoned In Every Fat Man A Thin One Is Wildly Signalling To Be Let Out.