When Passions And Appetites Are Stronger Than

The Whip Degrades; A Severe Father Teaches His Children To Dissemble; Their Love Is Pretense, And Their Obedience A Species Of Self-defense. Fear Is The Father Of Lies.

Had He Been Willing To Live A Hypocrite, He Would Have Been Respectable, He At Least Could Have Died Surrounded By Other Hypocrites, And At His Death There Would Have Been An Imposing Funeral, With Miles Of Carriages, Filled With Hypocrites, And Above His Hypocritical Dust There Would Have Been A Hypocritical Monument Covered With Lies.

The Good Part Of Christmas Is Not Always Christian -- It Is Generally Pagan; That Is To Say, Human, Natural.

Shakespeare Was An Intellectual Ocean, Whose Waves Touched All The Shores Of Thought; Within Which Were All The Tides And Waves Of Destiny And Will; Over Which Swept All The Storms Of Fate, Ambition And Revenge; Upon Which Fell The Gloom And Darkness Of Despair And Death And All The Sunlight Of Content And Love, And Within Which Was The Inverted Sky Lit With The Eternal Stars -- An Intellectual Ocean -- Toward Which All Rivers Ran, And From Which Now The Isles And Continents Of Thought Receive Their Dew And Rain.

If Nobody Has Too Much, Everybody Will Have Enough.