Coming Down Was The Hardest Part Of

It Was Like They Waited To Tell Each Other Things That Had Never Been Told Before. What She Had To Say Was Terrible And Afraid. But What He Would Tell Her Was So True That It Would Make Everything All Right. Maybe It Was A Thing That Could Not Be Spoken With Words Or Writing. Maybe He Would Have To Let Her Understand This In A Different Way. That Was The Feeling She Had With Him.

The Mind Is Like A Richly Woven Tapestry In Which The Colors Are Distilled From The Experiences Of The Senses, And The Design Drawn From The Convolutions Of The Intellect.

Wherever You Look There’s Meanness And Corruption. This Room, This Bottle Of Grape Wine, These Fruits In The Basket, Are All Products Of Profit And Loss. A Fellow Can’t Live Without Giving His Passive Acceptance To Meanness. Somebody Wears His Tail To A Frazzle For Every Mouthful We Eat And Every Stitch We Wear—and Nobody Seems To Know. Everybody Is Blind, Dumb, And Blunt-headed—stupid And Mean.

Maybe When People Longed For A Thing That Bad The Longing Made Them Trust In Anything That Might Give It To Them.

Love Is The Bridge That Leads From The I Sense To The We, And There Is A Paradox About Personal Love. Love Of Another Individual Opens A New Relation Between The Personality And The World. The Lover Responds In A New Way To Nature And May Even Write Poetry. Love Is Affirmation; It Motivates The Yes Responses And The Sense Of Wider Communication. Love Casts Out Fear, And In The Security Of This Togetherness We Find Contentment, Courage. We No Longer Fear The Age-old Haunting Questions: "who Am I?" "why Am I?" "where Am I Going?" - And Having Cast Out Fear, We Can Be Honest And Charitable.