Those Who Grant Sympathy To Guilt, Grant

Whose Steps Were A Restless Substitute For Flight.

She Fell Asleep, Lying There, Her Hand Clasping His. Her Last Awareness, Before She Surrendered The Responsibility Of Consciousness, Was The Sense Of An Enormous Void, The Void Of A City And Of A Continent, Where She Would Never Be Able To Find The Man Whom She Had No Right To Seek.

To Love Is To Value. Only A Rationally Selfish Man, A Man Of Self Esteem, Is Capable Of Love - Because He Is The Only Man Capable Of Holding Firm, Consistent, Uncompromising, Unbetrayed Value. The Man Who Does Not Value Himself, Cannot Value Anything Or Anyone

It's The Person Who Would Sell His Soul For A Nickel, Who Is Loudest In Proclaiming His Hatred Of Money.... Let Me Give You A Tip On Men's Characters: The Man Who Damns Money Has Obtained It Dishonorably; The Man Who Respects It Has Earned It. Run For Your Life From Any Man Who Tells You That Money Is Evil. That Sentence Is The...bell Of An Approaching Looter.

For Centuries, The Mystics Of Spirit Had Existed By Running A Protection Racket - By Making Life On Earth Unbearable, Then Charging You For Consolation And Relief, By Forbidding All The Virtues That Make Existence Possible, Then Riding On The Shoulders Of Your Guilt, By Declaring Production And Joy To Be Sins, Then Collecting Blackmail From The Sinners.