With One More Talent One Frequently Stands

Watch Them Clamber, These Swift Monkeys! They Clamber Over One Another And Thus Drag One Another Into The Mud And The Depth. They All Want To Get To The Throne: That Is Their Madness — As If Happiness Sat On The Throne. Often, Mud Sits On The Throne — And Often The Throne Also On Mud. Mad They All Appear To Me, Clambering Monkeys And Overardent. Foul Smells Their Idol, The Cold Monster: Foul, They Smell To Me Altogether, These Idolators.

It Is No Doubt Possible To Fly--but First You Must Know How To Dance Like An Angel.

Will, Pure Will, Without The Troubles And Complexities Of Intellect - How Happy! How Free!

To Produce Music Is Also In A Sense To Produce Children.

Glance Into The World Just As Though Time Were Gone: And Everything Crooked Will Become Straight To You.