The World Is Made Of Sugar And

I Read Like The Flame Reads The Wood.

And If You Ask Again Whether There Is Any Justice In The World, You'll Have To Be Satisfied With The Reply: Not For The Time Being; At Any Rate, Not Up To This Friday.

The World Is Made Of Sugar And Dirt.

My Books, At Any Rate, Deserved To Be Burned.

No Country Is So Peaceful As The One That Leads Into Death. Life Arches Above One's Head Like A Bridgespan, And Below It Flows The Water, Carries The Boat, Takes It Further.