To Be Alone Is To Be Free,

To Be Alone Is To Be Free, And Freedom Was The Only Happiness Accessible To My Nature.

One Must Use The Weapons One Finds In One's Path.

The Way I See It, There Is No Greater Spiritual Beauty Than Fanaticism, Of A Sort So Sincere It Can Only End In Martyrdom.

The Cowardly Belief That A Person Must Stay In One Place Is Too Reminiscent Of The Unquestioning Resignation Of Animals, Beasts Of Burden Stupefied By Servitude And Yet Always Willing To Accept The Slipping On Of The Harness. There Are Limits To Every Domain, And Laws To Govern Every Organized Power. But The Vagrant Owns The Whole Vast Earth That Ends Only At The Non-existent Horizon, And Her Empire Is An Intangible One, For Her Domination And Enjoyment Of It Are Things Of The Spirit.

While To Live In The Past And Think Of What Was Good And Beautiful About It Amounts To A Sort Of Seasoning Of The Present, The Perennial Wait For Tomorrow Is Bound To Result In Chronic Discontent That Poisons One's Entire Outlook.