Work Is What Horses Die Of

Bless You Prison, Bless You For Being In My Life. For There, Lying Upon The Rotting Prison Straw, I Came To Realize That The Object Of Life Is Not Prosperity As We Are Made To Believe, But The Maturity Of The Human Soul.

In Our Age, When Technology Is Gaining Control Over Life, When Material Well-being Is Considered The Most Important Goal, When The Influence Of Religion Has Been Weakened Everywhere In The World, A Special Responsibility Lies Upon The Writer.

Justness Exists, Even If Few People Exist Who Feel It.

I Insist On Believing That Beauty Elevates Human Beings.

Mistakes Are A Great Educator When One Is Honest Enough To Admit Them And Willing To Learn From Them