It does not take much strength to do things, but it requires great strength to decide on what to do.
Cold metal walks across my forehead, spiders search for my heart. It is a light that goes out in my mouth.
I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.
Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.
Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.
The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.
I do not have easy days at home now and I drift between fear and helplessness in sunny rooms where it is unspeakably cold. Strange shudders of transformation, bodily experienced to the point of vulnerability, visions of mysteries until the certainty of having died, ecstasies to the point of stony petrifaction, and a continuation of dreaming sad dreams.
I live on a one-way street that's also a dead end. I'm not sure how I got there.
Dickens, as you know, never got round to starting his home page.
The God who gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time; the hand of force may destroy, but cannot disjoin them. . . . Love your neighbor as yourself and your country more than yourself. . . . The boisterous sea of liberty is never without a wave. . . . I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man. . . . The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure.
Even if people censure me, they should do so hat in hand.