People who read your ideas tend to think that your writings reflect your life.

My self is all to me. I don't have any need of you.

History will treat me fairly. Historians probably won't$$$ because most historians are on the left.

MASTER: But even behind the mother's love lies her hope that the children will support her later on. But I love these youngsters because I see in them Nryana Himself. These are not mere words.

There are days when I swear I could fly like an eagle<br>And dark desperate hours that nobody sees<br>My arms stretched triumphant on top of the mountain<br>My head in my hands down on my knees.

So the freshness lives on<br>in a lemon$$$<br>in the sweet-smelling house of the rind$$$<br>the proportions$$$ arcane and acerb.

Like them you are tall and taciturn$$$ and you are sad$$$ all at once$$$ like a voyage.

How much does a man live$$$ after all?<br>Does he live a thousand days$$$ or one only?<br>For a week$$$ or for several centuries?<br>How long does a man spend dying?<br>What does it mean to say 'for ever'?

The Truth is in the prologue. Death to the romantic fool$$$ the expert in solitary confinement.

White bee$$$ even when you are gone you buzz in my soul<br>You live again in time$$$ slender and silent.