I wished them all wellthe Ego-Flower said: Wish me weller than them
Man at his best cares about all lifeMan at his worst wants to kill it
Space existsto introduce and interposeDistance
The ego is a self-made Procrustean bedof little comfort
Nothing is so small that you cannotcut it in half
Life is true joy up to its neckin fake misery
Byways and more byways — I have traveled little else Still, I arrive
The weave of life Its trillion trillion threadsI am weave I am thread
The mortal fusion of spirit with flesh — Superglue
Joy is our native conditionLet go all non-joy and there is joy
Words are springboardsto their meanings