The Most Beautiful Stories Always Start With

The Function Of Man Is To Live, Not To Exist.

The Aim Of Life Was Meat. Life Itself Was Meat. Life Lived On Life. There Were The Eaters And The Eaten.

I Early Learned That There Were Two Natures In Me. This Caused Me A Great Deal Of Trouble, Till I Worked Out A Philosophy Of Life And Struck A Compromise Between The Flesh And The Spirit. Too Great An Ascendancy Of Either Was To Be Abnormal, And Since Normality Is Almost A Fetish Of Mine, I Finally Succeeded In Balancing Both Natures. Ordinarily They Are At Equilibrium; Yet As Frequently As One Is Permitted To Run Rampant, So Is The Other. I Have Small Regard For An Utter Brute Or For An Utter Saint.

He Was Mastered By The Sheer Surging Of Life, The Tidal Wave Of Being, The Perfect Joy Of Each Separate Muscle, Joint, And Sinew In That It Was Everything That Was Not Death, That It Was Aglow And Rampant, Expressing Itself In Movement, Flying Exultantly Under The Stars.

I'd Rather Sing One Wild Song And Burst My Heart With It, Than Live A Thousand Years Watching My Digestion And Being Afraid Of The Wet.